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would gladly spare a little money for
his benefit; he was a boy to repay such expenditure.
    Indeed it seemed probable. Godwin devoured books, and had a
remarkable faculty for gaining solid information on any subject
that took his fancy. What might be the special bent of his mind one
could not yet discover. He read poetry with precocious gusto, but
at the same time his aptitude for scientific pursuits was strongly
marked. In botany, chemistry, physics, he made progress which the
people about him, including his schoolmaster, were incapable of
appreciating; and already the collection of books left by his
father, most of them out of date, failed to satisfy his curiosity.
It might be feared that tastes so discursive would be
disadvantageous to a lad who must needs pursue some definite
bread-study, and the strain of self-consciousness which grew strong
in him was again a matter for concern. He cared nothing for boyish
games and companionship; in the society of strangers especially of
females—he behaved with an excessive shyness which was easily
mistaken for a surly temper. Reproof, correction, he could not
endure, and it was fortunate that the decorum of his habits made
remonstrance seldom needful.
    Ludicrous as the project would have appeared to any unbiassed
observer of character, Miss Cadman conceived a hope that Godwin
might become a clergyman. From her point of view it was natural to
assume that uncommon talents must be devoted to the service of the
Church, and she would have gladly done her utmost for the practical
furthering of such an end. Mrs. Peak, though well aware that her
son had imbibed the paternal prejudices, was disposed to entertain
the same hope, despite solid obstacles. For several years she had
nourished a secret antagonism to her husband's spirit of political,
social, and religious rebellion, and in her widowhood she speedily
became a pattern of the conservative female. It would have
gratified her to discern any possibility of Godwin's assuming the
priestly garb. And not alone on the ground of conscience. Long ago
she had repented the marriage which connected her with such a
family as that of the Peaks, and she ardently desired that the
children, now exclusively her own, might enter life on a plane
superior to their father's.
    'Godwin, how would you like to go to College and be a
clergyman?' she asked one Sunday afternoon, when an hour or two of
congenial reading seemed to have put the boy into a gentle
humour.
    'To go to College' was all very well (diplomacy had prompted
this preface), but the words that followed fell so alarmingly on
Godwin's ear that he looked up with a resentful expression, unable
to reply otherwise.
    'You never thought of it, I suppose?' his mother faltered; for
she often stood in awe of her son, who, though yet but fourteen,
had much of his father's commanding severity.
    'I don't want to be a parson,' came at length, bluntly.
    'Don't use that word, Godwin.'
    'Why not? It's quite a proper word. It comes from the Latin persona .'
    The mother had enough discretion to keep silence, and Godwin,
after in vain trying to settle to his book again, left the room
with disturbed countenance.
    He had now been attending the day-school for about a year, and
was distinctly ahead of his coevals. A Christmas examination was on
the point of being held, and it happened that a singular test of
the lad's moral character coincided with the proof of his
intellectual progress. In a neighbouring house lived an old man
named Rawmarsh, kindly but rather eccentric; he had once done a
good business as a printer, and now supported himself by such
chance typographic work of a small kind as friends might put in his
way. He conceived an affection for Godwin; often had the boy to
talk with him of an evening. On one such occasion, Mr. Rawmarsh
opened a desk, took forth a packet of newly printed leaves, and
with a mysterious air silently spread them before the boy's eyes.
In an instant Godwin became aware that he was