"And what may that be?" she asked, looking at him now in genuine
wonder.

"I can't explain exactly what I mean. It is something I've seen
in mother, plain and simple as she is. It's a kind of enduring
steadfastness; it's a patient faithfulness. I should know just where
to find mother, and just what to expect from her, under all possible
circumstances. I should never expect to see you very different from
what you are, no matter what happened. You often have the same look
or expression that she has; and it means to me that you would do
the best you could, although discouraged and almost hopeless. Very
few soldiers will fight when they know the battle is going against
them. You would, as long as you could move a finger."

"Mr. Atwood, what has put all this into your head? This seems very
strange language from you."

"It is not so strange as it seems. It comes from the gift on which
I base my hope of success in life. I see clearly and vividly what
is before me, and draw my conclusions. If I see the antlers of a
stag above some bushes, it is not necessary to see the whole animal
to know he is there, and what kind of a creature he is. I'm not a
scholar, Miss Jocelyn, but you must not think I do not know anything
because I work in the corn or the hayfield all day. We have long
winters up here, and I've studied some and read a great deal more.
There are but few books in the village library that I have not
read more or less thoroughly, and some of them many times. Because
I was a careless, conceited fellow a few weeks since, it does not
follow that I'm an ignoramus."