rs as
they flowed, while he told her, as well as his sobs would let him, how
long and how much he had reckoned on going round the world, and how
little he cared for anything else in the future; and now this was just
the very thing he should never be able to do! He had practised climbing
ever since he could remember;--and now that was of no use;--he had
practised marching, and now he should never march again. When he had
finished his complaint, there was a pause, and his mother said--

"Hugh, do you remember Richard Grant?"

"What,--the cabinet-maker? The man who carved so beautifully?"

"Yes. Do you remember--No, you could hardly have known: but I will tell
you. He had planned a most beautiful set of carvings in wood for a
chapel belonging to a nobleman's mansion. He was to be well paid,--his
work was so superior; and he would be able to make his parents
comfortable, as well as his wife and children. But the thing he most
cared for was the honour of producing a noble work which would outlive
him. Well, at the very beginning of his task, his chisel flew up
against his wrist: and the narrow cut that it made,--not more than half
an inch wide,--made his right-hand entirely useless for life. He could
never again hold a tool;--his work was gone,--his business in life
seemed over,--the support of the whole family was taken away--and the
only strong wish Richard Grant had in the world was disappointed."

Hugh hid his face with his handkerchief, and his mother went on:

"You have heard of Huber."

"The man who found out so much about bees. Miss Harold read that
account to us."

"Bees and ants. When Huber had discovered more than had ever been known
before about bees and ants, and when he was sure he could learn more
still, and was more and more anxious to peep and pry into their tiny
homes, and their curious ways, Huber became blind."

Hugh sighed, and his mother went on:

"Did you ever hear of Beethoven? He was one of the greatest musical
composers that ever lived. His great, his sole delight was in music.
It was the passion of his life. When all his time and all his mind were
given to music, he became deaf--perfectly deaf; so that he never more
heard one single note from the loudest orchestra. While crowds were
moved and delighted with his compositions, it was all silence to him."

Hugh said nothing.

"Now, do you think," asked his mother,--and Hugh saw by the grey light
that began to shine in, that