her there and then, but the Parson talked gravely to him,
impressing on him for the first time what was to be the keynote of his
teaching, that never, never must he forget that Cloom was the great
trust of his life. What he made of Cloom was everything; he could not
shift this thing God had put upon him. Thus the Parson, to whom what he
was to make of Ishmael had become the absorbing passion of his own life.

Boase made Ishmael promise not to let anyone know he had been told about
it; that, too, was part of the trust--that Ishmael should prepare
himself in secret, by diligent study, for this thing that was to be his.
The child promised, proud of the confidence, his imagination thrilled by
the romance that had come to him, and so, although he meant to be quite
nice to everyone, there was a tinge of kindly pity in the manner he
pictured himself displaying when he arrived home. And, overriding even
these plans for the immediate future, was a tingling sense of glory he
had never known before, the glory of this trust that was to fill his
life....

No hailing of him as little master or as anything else took place when
he reached home; Katie was busy at the washhouse, and he met no one
amidst all the dreary litter of last night's festivities till he came on
his mother in the back kitchen. The piled dresser showed a muddle of
unwashed dishes, and the floor was gritty with mud. Annie looked, and
was, dirty with exertion; and even the steam that wreathed upwards from
the washbowl added a sense of uncleanness to the air. Ishmael was too
young to be depressed by dirt, which he rather liked, but the greyness
of it all settled on him like a blight.

He had been right about one thing--there was a distinct change in
Annie's manner. It was not, however, any difference such as he had
imagined; it went deeper than mere speech. As he entered his mother came
over to him, and, tilting up his chin, searched his eyes with hers till
he felt uncomfortable. He jerked his head away, retreating against the
door which had swung to behind him.

"Eh," said Annie, and he knew it was not to him she spoke; "it is to be.
The Lard will accept him as He accepted the infant Samuel."

Ishmael began to be afraid; his mother's eyes had the glitter in them
that usually went with one of her storming fits, but now she was quiet,
though tense. "What is it, mother?" he asked nervously, staring at her
in his turn.

"You'm a brand to be plucked from the burning,