wouldn't have to go back to a beastly bank, where notes and gold all day
went flying about like bats--nothing but the sight and the figures of it
coming their way!"

The mother's face grew very sad as it bent over her work. The youth saw
her trouble.

"Mother, don't be vexed with a fellow," he said more gently. "I wasn't
made good like you."

"I think you were right about the holy children," she said quietly.

"What!" exclaimed Cornelius. "Mother, I never once before heard you say
I was right about any mortal thing! Come, this is pleasant! I begin to
think strong ale of myself! I don't understand it, though."

"Shall I tell you? Would you care to know what I mean?"

"Oh, yes, mother! if you want to tell me."

"I think you were right when you implied it was the furnace that made
them sing about the world outside of it: one can fancy the idea of the
frost and the snow and the ice being particularly pleasant to them. And
I am afraid, Cornelius, my dear son, you need the furnace to teach you
that the will of God, even in weather, is a thing for rejoicing in, not
for abusing. But I dread the fire for your sake, my boy!"

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