this was for the best too—­they might have been tempted to set too much store by it, and it might have become a source of spiritual danger to them—­perhaps even of spiritual pride, the very sin of all others which she most abhorred.  As for the channel through which the Jordan had flowed to Battersby, that mattered not more than the earth through which the river ran in Palestine itself.  Dr Jones was certainly worldly—­very worldly; so, she regretted to feel, had been her father-in-law, though in a less degree; spiritual, at heart, doubtless, and becoming more and more spiritual continually as he grew older, still he was tainted with the world, till a very few hours, probably, before his death, whereas she and Theobald had given up all for Christ’s sake. They were not worldly.  At least Theobald was not.  She had been, but she was sure she had grown in grace since she had left off eating things strangled and blood—­this was as the washing in Jordan as against Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus.  Her boy should never touch a strangled fowl nor a black pudding—­that, at any rate, she could see to.  He should have a coral from the neighbourhood of Joppa—­there were coral insects on those coasts, so that the thing could easily be done with a little energy; she would write to Dr Jones about it, etc.  And so on for hours together day after day for years.  Truly, Mrs Theobald loved her child according to her lights with an exceeding great fondness, but the dreams she had dreamed in sleep were sober realities in comparison with those she indulged in while awake.

When Ernest was in his second year, Theobald, as I have already said, began to teach him to read.  He began to whip him two days after he had begun to teach him.

“It was painful,” as he said to Christina, but it was the only thing to do and it was done.  The child was puny, white and sickly, so they sent continually for the doctor who dosed him with calomel and James’s powder.  All was done in love, anxiety, timidity, stupidity, and impatience.  They were stupid in little things; and he that is stupid in little will be stupid also in much.

Presently old Mr Pontifex died, and then came the revelation of the little alteration he had made in his will simultaneously with his bequest to Ernest.  It was rather hard to bear, especially as there was no way of conveying a bit of their minds to the testator now that he could no longer hurt them.  As regards the boy himself anyone must see that the bequest would be an unmitigated misfortune to him.  To leave him a small independence was perhaps the greatest injury which one could inflict upon a young man.  It would cripple his energies, and deaden his desire for active employment.  Many a youth was led into evil courses by the knowledge that on arriving at majority he would come into a few thousands.  They might surely have been trusted to have their boy’s interests at heart, and must be better