Afteramoment’spausesheputherarmroundhim——so，holdinghim，shestared，defiantlyandcrossly，upontheworld。
　　CHAPTERVII
　　RELIGION
　　I
　　AlwaysinafteryearsJeremyrememberedthatpartyofMissMaddison’s，notbecauseithadbeentherethathehadwonhisfirstfight，butforthedeeperreasonthatfromthatdayhislifereceivedanewcolour，wovenintothetextureofit；evennowwhenhethinksofthosehoursthatfollowedMissMaddison’spartyhecatcheshisbreathandglancesaroundhimtoseewhethereverythingissafe。Thechildren，onarrivinghomethatevening，foundthattheirfatherandmotherhadalreadyreturnedfromDrymouth。Jeremy，sleepythoughhewas，rushedtohismother，heldherhand，explainedhisblackeye，andthensuddenly，inawaythathehad，fellasleep，thereashewas，andhadtobecarrieduptobed。
　　Whenheawokenextmorninghisfirstthoughtwasofhismother。Hedidnotknowwhy；shewassodefinitelypartofthebackgroundofhisdailylifethathefelttoosureofhercontinualandabidingpresencetoneeddeliberatethoughtofher。Butthismorninghewantedtogetupquicklyandfindher。Perhapsherabsencehadmadehimfeelmoreinsecure，buttherehadalsobeensomethingthatnight，somethinginherface，somethinginthetouchofherhand。
　　Andtheotherthingthatherealisedwasthatsummerhadtrulycome。
　　Heknewatoncethathotsmellthatpressedeventhroughtheclosedwindow-panesofhisroom；thebarsandsquaresoflightonthefloorwhenhejumpedoutofbedandstooduponthemseemedtoburnthesolesofhisfeet，andtheraysoflightontheceilingquiveredasonlysummersunlightcanquiver。ThetwowindowsofhisbedroomlookedbackbehindPolchesteroverfieldsandhedgestoadimpurplelineofwood。Atinystreamranthroughthefirsttwofields，andthislittleriverwasshiningnowwithawhitehotlightthathadyetthebreezeofthemorningrufflingit。Herantohiswindowandopenedit。Beyondthewallthatborderedtheirhousewasalittlebrownpath，anddownthispath，evenashewatched，acompanyofcowswereslowlywanderingalong。Alreadytheywereflappingtheirearslazilyinanticipationoftheflies，andtheboywhowasdrivingthemwaswhistlingasoneonlywhistlesonasummermorning。
　　Hecouldseethebuttercups，too，inthenearestfield；theyseemedtohavesprungtolifeinthespaceofanight。Someonewaspullingtheropeofawellsomewhereandsomeoneelsewaspouringwateroutuponsomestonecourt。Evenashewatched，abeecameblunderinguptohiswindow，hesitatedforamoment，andthenwentwhirringoffagain，andthroughallthesunandglitterandthesparkleofthelittlerivertherewasascentofpinks，andmignonette，andeven，althoughitcouldnotreallybeso，ofthegorse。Theskywasapalewhiteblue，sopalethatitwasscarcelyanycolouratallandafewpuffsofclouds，deadwhitelikethepurestsmoke，hoveredindancingprocession，abovethepurplewood。Thesunburntuponhisbarefeetandhisheadandhishands。
　　Thiscomingofsummermeantsomuchmoretohimthanmerelytheimmediatejoyofit——itmeantRafielandCowFarmandtheCoveandgreenpoolswithcrabsinthem，andshrimpingandpaddlingandridinghomeintheeveningonhaycarts，anddrinkingmilkoutoftincans，andcowsandsmallpigs，andpeelingsticksandapples，andcollectingshells，andfishermen’snets，andsandwiches，andsaffronbunsmixedwithsand，andhotgingerbeer，andone’searspeelingwiththesun，andchurchonSundaywiththeRafielsheepcroppingthegrassjustoutsidethechurchdoor，andDickMarriott，thefisherman，andslippingalongoverthegreenwater，trailingone’sfingersinthewater，inhisboat，andfishysmellsbythesea-wall，andredmassesofdog-fishonthepier，andthestillcoolfeelofthefarmhousesheetsjustaftergettingintobed——allthesethingsandathousandmorethecomingofsummermeanttoJeremy。
　　Butthismorninghedidnotfeelhiscustomaryjoy。Closinghiswindowanddressingslowly，hewonderedwhatwasthematter。Whatcoulditbe？Itwasnothiseye——certainlyitwasafunnycolourthismorningandithurtwhenyoutouchedit，buthewasproudofthat。No，itwasnothiseye。Anditwasnotthedog，whocameintohisroom，afterscratchingonthedoor，andmadehisusualmorningpretenceofhavingcomeforanyotherpurposethantoseehisfriendandmaster，firstlookingunderthebed，thengoinguptothewindowpretendingtogazeoutofitwhichhecouldnotdo，barking，thenrollingonasquareofsunlitcarpet，and，afterthat，lyingonhisback，hislegsoutstiff，hisridiculous“Imperial“pointedandironical，thensuddenlyturning，withatwistonhislegs，rushingatlastuptoJeremy，barkingathim，laughingathim，lickinghim，andevenbitinghisstockings——lastofallseizingabedroomslipperandrushingwildlyintotheschoolroomwithit。
　　No，therewasnothingthematterwithHamlet。NorwasthereanythingthematterwithMissJones，free，happily，fromhercustomaryneuralgia，anddelightedwiththenewnumberoftheChurchTimes。
　　Norwasitthebreakfast，whichto-dayincludedbaconandstrawberryjam。Nor，finally，wasitMaryorHelen，who，pleasedwiththesummerweatherandMaryadditionallypleasedwiththevirtuesofLanceasminutelyrecordedinthesecondvolumeof“ThePillarsoftheHouse“，werebothinthemostamiableoftempers。No，itmustbesomethinginsideJeremyhimself。
　　Hewaiteduntiltheendofbreakfasttoaskhisquestion：
　　“CanIgoandseeMother，MissJones？“
　　MaryandHelenlookedacrossathiminquisitively。
　　“Whatdoyouwanttoseeyourmotherfornow，Jeremy？Youalwaysseeherattwelveo’clock。“MissJonespushedherspectaclesloweruponhernoseandcontinuedherreading。
　　“Iwantto。“
　　“Well，youcan’tnow。“
　　“Whynot？“
　　“BecauseIsaynot——that’senough。“
　　ButJeremywasgentleto-day。Hegotoffhischair，wentroundtoMissJones’schair，and，lookingupatheroutofhisbruisedeye，saidinthemosttouchingvoice：
　　“But，please，MissJones，Iwantto。Ireallydo。“
　　Thenshesaidwhathehadknownallthetimewascoming：
　　“I’mafraidyouwon’tseeyourmotherto-day，dear。She’snotwell。
　　She’sinbed。“
　　“Why？Issheill？“
　　“She’stiredafterherjourneyyesterday，Iexpect。“
　　Hesaidnomore。
　　Hetriedduringthewholeofthatdaynottothinkofhismother，andhefoundthat，forthefirsttimeinhislife，hecoulddonothingelsebutthinkofher。Duringthemorninghesatverysilentlyoverhislessons，didallthathewastold，didnotoncekickMaryunderthetable，noraskMissJonestosharpenhispencil，normakefacesatHamlet。Onceortwice，inawaythathehad，heleanedhisheadonhishandasthoughhewereanancientprofessorwithawholelibraryofgreatworksbehindhim，andwhenMissJonesaskedhimwhetherhehadaheadachehesaid：“No，thankyou，“
　　insteadofseizingonthewonderfulopportunityofreleasethatsuchaquestionofferedhim。Whentheyallwentforawalkintheafternoon，hesprangforamomentintosomethingofhisnaturalvivacity。Theycameuponathin，ill-shaventrampdressedasasailor，withapatchoveroneeye，producingterriblediscordancefromafiddle。Thisindividualheldinonehandablacktincup，andathissidecrouchedamongrelterrier，whosebeatenanddishevelledappearancecreatedatoncehopesinthebreastoftheflamboyantHamlet。ThiscouplewerepostedjustoutsideMr。Poole’ssecond-handbookshop，closetothe“2d。“box，andforamomentJeremywasenthralled。Hewantedtogivetheherohisweek’spenny，anduponfindingthathisweek’spennywasnot，owingtosweetpurchasesonthepreviousday，hebeganelaboratebargainingswithMissJonesastotheforestallingoffuturepennies。Meanwhile，Hamletleapt，witheverysignofjoyfulexpectation，uponthepauperdog；theblindsailorbegantohitwildlyaboutwithhisstick，Mr。Poole’s“2d。“
　　boxwasupset，andthesailor’sblackpatchfelloff，revealinghimasthepossessoroftwobeautifuleyes，justlikeanyothergentleman，andafine，vigorousstockofthebestGlebeshireprofanities。Mr。Poole，anirascibleoldman，himselfcameout，apolicemanapproached，twooldladiesfromtheClose，wellknowntoJeremy，wereshockedbythetramp，andtheCathedralbell，asthoughithadjustawokenuptoitsrealresponsibilities，suddenlybegantoring。
　　Allthiswas，ofcourse，delightfultoJeremy，andofferedsomanypossibleveinsofinterestthathecouldhavestayedthereforhours。Hewantedverybadlytoaskthesailorwhyhecoveredupaperfectlywholesomeeyewithablackpatch，andhewouldhavelikedtoseewhatHamletcoulddointhedirectionofeatingupthescatteredremnantsofMr。Poole’s“2d。“box；buthewasdraggedawaybytheagitatedhandofMissJones，havingtoconsolehimselffinallywithawinkfromtheaugustpoliceman，who，knownthroughoutPolchesterasTomNoddy，wasakindlysoulandlikedgentlemanlylittleboys，butpersecutedthestreetsort。
　　Foramomentthisexcitingadventurecarriedhimaway，andheevenlistenedforaminuteortwotoMary，who，seizingheropportunity，beganhurriedly：“Onceuponatimetherelivedasailor，verythin，andheneverwashed，andhehadadogandaviolin——“Butsoonheremembered，andsighedandsaid：“Oh，bother，Mary！“andthenwalkedonbyhimself。Andstill，allthroughthathotafternoon，wheneventheRopeWalkdidnotofferanyshade，andwhenthePolwasofsoclearacolourthatyoucouldseetroutandemeraldstonesandgoldensandasunderglass，andwhenHamletwascompelledtorunaheadandfindapieceofshadeandlietherestretched，panting，withhistongueout，untiltheycameuptohim——evenallthesesignsofatrueandmarvelloussummerdidnotrelieveJeremyofhisburden。Somethinghorriblewasgoingtohappen。HeknewitwithsuchcertaintythathewonderedhowMaryandHelencouldbesogailylight-hearted，anddespisedthemfortheircarelessness。Thiswasconnectedinsomewaywiththehotweather；hefeltasthough，wereacoldbreezesuddenlytocome，andraintofall，hewouldbehappyagain。Therehadbeenonceaboy，olderthanhe，calledJimmyBain，afat，plumpboy，whohadlivednextdoortotheColes。WheneverhehadtheopportunityhebulliedJeremy，pinchinghisarms，puttingpinsintohislegs，andshoutingsuddenlyintohisears。Jeremy，whohadfearedJohnnyBain，hadalways“felt“thestoutyouth’sarrivalbeforeheappeared。Theskyhadseemedtodarken，theairtothicken，thebirdstogatherinthe“rooky“wood。
　　Hehadtrembledandshaken，histeethhadchatteredandhisthroatgrowndryfornoreasonatall。AshehadoncefeltaboutJohnnyBainsonowhefeltaboutlifeingeneral。Somethinghorriblewasgoingtohappen……SomethingtodowithMother……Ashecameuptheroadtotheirhousehisheartbeatsothathecouldnothearhisownsteps。