Winthrop watched the gentle grave face, so very grave then in its gentleness, until he could not bear it; her cheek was growing pale, and whether with cold or with thinking he did not care to know.
He came forward and gently touched his cheek to the pale one.
"Mamma, do not look so for me!" he whispered.
She pulled him down beside her on the hearth, and nestled her face on his shoulder and wrapped her arms round him.

And they strained him close, but he could not speak to her then.
"For whom should I look?
or for what do I live?
My boy! I would die to know that you loved Christ; -- that my dear Master was yours too!" The gently-spoken words tied his tongue.

He was mute; till she had unloosed her arms from about him and sat with her face in her hands.

Then his head sought her shoulder.
"Mamma, I know you are right.

I will do anything to please you -- anything that I can," he said with a great force upon himself.
"What _can_ you do, Winthrop ?" He did not answer again, and she looked up and looked into his face.
"Can you take God for your God?
and give your heart and your life, -- all the knowledge you will ever get and all the power it will ever give you, -- to be used for him ?" "For him, mamma?
-- " "In doing his work -- in doing his pleasure ?" "Mamma -- I am not a Christian," he said hesitatingly and his eye falling.
"And now you know what a Christian is.