sound of assent, and both were silent for
some moments, then he said, "Then you will not be displeased, papa, if I
do read, as long as I feel it does me no harm."

"I told you I don't mean to make it a matter of obedience. Do as you
please--I had rather you read than vexed yourself."

"I am glad of it. Thank you, papa," said Norman, in a much cheered
voice.

They had, in the meantime, been mounting a rising ground, clothed with
stunted wood, and came out on a wide heath, brown with dead bracken; a
hollow, traced by the tops of leafless trees, marked the course of the
stream that traversed it, and the inequalities of ground becoming more
rugged in outlines and grayer in colouring as they receded, till they
were closed by a dark fir wood, beyond which rose in extreme distance
the grand mass of Welsh mountain heads, purpled against the evening sky,
except where the crowning peaks bore a veil of snow. Behind, the sky was
pure gold, gradually shading into pale green, and then into clear light
wintry blue, while the sun sitting behind two of the loftiest, seemed
to confound their outlines, and blend them in one flood of soft hazy
brightness. Dr. May looked at his son, and saw his face clear up, his
brow expand, and his lips unclose with admiration.

"Yes," said the doctor, "it is very fine, is it not? I used to bring
mamma here now and then for a treat, because it put her in mind of her
Scottish hills. Well, your's are the golden hills of heaven, now, my
Maggie!" he added, hardly knowing that he spoke aloud. Norman's throat
swelled, as he looked up in his face, then cast down his eyes hastily to
hide the tears that had gathered on his eyelashes.

"I'll leave you here," said Dr. May; "I have to go to a farmhouse close
by, in the hollow behind us; there's a girl recovering from a fever.
I'll not be ten minutes, so wait here."

When he came back, Norman was still where he had left him, gazing
earnestly, and the tears standing on his cheeks. He did not move till
his father laid his hand on his shoulder--they walked away together
without a word, and scarcely spoke all the way home.

Dr. May went to Margaret and talked to her of Norman's fine character,
and intense affection for his mother, the determined temper, and quietly
borne grief, for which the doctor seemed to have worked himself into a
perfect enthusiasm of admiration; but lamenting that he could not tell
what to do with him--study or no study hurt him alike--and h