And they almost regretted--though none of them would have owned to such callousness--that their father was soon coming back.
Paul was now fourteen, and was looking for work.

He was a rather small and rather finely-made boy, with dark brown hair and light blue eyes.
His face had already lost its youthful chubbiness, and was becoming somewhat like William's--rough-featured, almost rugged--and it was extraordinarily mobile.

Usually he looked as if he saw things, was full of life, and warm; then his smile, like his mother's, came suddenly and was very lovable; and then, when there was any clog in his soul's quick running, his face went stupid and ugly.

He was the sort of boy that becomes a clown and a lout as soon as he is not understood, or feels himself held cheap; and, again, is adorable at the first touch of warmth.
He suffered very much from the first contact with anything.

When he was seven, the starting school had been a nightmare and a torture to him.
But afterwards he liked it.