“Perhaps you mean more than you think,” answered his mother with a deep sigh.

“Oh, I know,” said the youth in a tone that roused his sister’s anger, “you think I should be as thankful as the three children in the fiery furnace you are so fond of reminding me about.”

“They would have been glad enough for some of the weather you call beastly,” said Hester, again pulling through a stiff needle, this time without a smile, for sometimes her brother was more than she could bear.

“Oh, I daresay! But then, they knew when they got out they wouldn’t have to go back to a beastly bank with nothing but notes and figures before their eyes from morning till night.”

The mother’s face grew sad.

“I am afraid, Cornelius, my dear son, that you may need the furnace yourself to teach you that the will of God, even in unpleasant weather, is a thing to be rejoiced in not abused. But I dread the fire for your sake, my boy!”

“I should have thought this weather, and the bank waiting after it, furnace enough, mother!” he answered, trying to laugh off her words.

“It does not seem to be,” she said with some displeasure. “But then,” she added with a sigh, “you do not have the same companion the three holy children had.”

“Who is that?” rejoined Cornelius, for he had partly forgotten the story he knew well enough in childhood.

“We will not talk about him now,” answered his mother. “He has been knocking at your chamber door for some time. When he comes to the furnace door, perhaps you will open that to him.”

Cornelius returned no answer. He felt his mother’s seriousness awkward, and said to himself she was unkind. Why couldn’t she make some allowance for a fellow? He meant no harm.

Since going to work at the bank, he had become still less patient with his mother’s infrequent admonitions, for, much as he disliked his work, he considered himself quite a man of the world because of it. But a thoroughgoing man of the world he was not—not yet at least—even though he was totally incapable of perceiving the kind of thing his mother cared about. This came not from moral lack alone, but from dullness and lack of imagination as well. He was like the child so sure he can run alone that he snatches his hand from his mother’s and sets off through dirt and puddles, acting the part of the great person he considers himself.

With all her peace of soul, Mrs. Raymount was very anxious about her son, but she said no more to him now. She knew that a drenching shower is not the readiest way of making a child friendly with cold water.

“Well, for my part,” said Cornelius at length, “I don’t desire to be better than my neighbour. I think it downright selfish.”

“Do you want to be as good as your neighbour, Corney?” said his mother. “There is a more important question still, and that is whether you are content with being as good as yourself, or do you want to be better?”