When he was twelve he won a first prize in a race; an inkstand of glass, shaped like an anvil.

It stood proudly on the dresser, and gave Mrs.Morel a keen pleasure.

The boy only ran for her.
He flew home with his anvil, breathless, with a "Look, mother!" That was the first real tribute to herself.

She took it like a queen.
"How pretty!" she exclaimed.
Then he began to get ambitious.

He gave all his money to his mother.
When he earned fourteen shillings a week, she gave him back two for himself, and, as he never drank, he felt himself rich.