dislike the confinement of houses and domestic ways as much as Christian, and they leave their fine homes to travel among dangers and discomforts.  I could find the money for Christian to do this by and by.  If he likes a wandering life, he can live it easily so—­only he would be able to wander hundreds of miles where you wander one, and to sleep under other skies and among new flowers, and in forests to which such woods as these are shrubberies.  He need not fall into any of the bad ways to which you know people are tempted by being poor.  I have thought of it all, night after night, and longed to be able to tell you about it.  He might become a famous traveller, you know; he is very clever and very fond of books of adventure.  This young gentleman will tell you so.  How proud we should both be of him!  That is what I have thought might be if you did not hide him from me, and I did not keep him from you.

“And as to religion—­dear good mother, listen to me.  Look at me—­see if religion has been a fashion or a plaything to me.  If it had not stood by me when my heart was as heavy as yours, what profit should I have in it?

“Christian’s grandmother—­you are his grandmother, I know, and have the better right to him—­if you cannot agree to my plans—­if you won’t let me help you about him—­if you hide him from me, and I must live out my life and never see his dear face again—­spare me the hope of seeing it when this life is over.

“If I did my best for your grandson—­and you know I did—­oh! for the love of Christ, our only Refuge, do not stand between him and the Father of us all!

“If you have felt what he must suffer if he is poor, and if you know so well how little it makes sure of happiness to be rich—­if in a long life you have found out how hard it is to be good, and how rare it is to be happy—­if you know what it is to love and lose, to hope and to be disappointed in one’s hoping—­let him be religious, good mother!

“If you care for Christian, leave him the only strength that is strong enough to hold us back from sin, and to do instead of joy.”

The tinker-mother lifted her head; but before she could say a word, the young gentleman burst into indignant speech.

“Gertrude, I can bear it no longer.  Not even for you, not even for the chance of getting Christian back.  It’s empty swagger to say that I wish to GOD I’d the chance of giving my life to get him back for you.  But you must come home now.  I’ve bitten my lip through in holding my tongue, but I won’t see you kneel another minute at the feet of that sulky old gipsy hag.”

Whilst he was speaking the tinker-mother had risen to her feet, and when she stood quite upright she was much taller than I had thought.  The young gentleman had moved to take his cousin by the hand, but the old woman waved him back.