"
"It is a real hero-face," said the young lady, frankly; "not a mean line
in it."
Starke had drawn the boy between his knees, and was playing roughly with
him.
"There never shall be one, with God's help," he thought, but said
nothing.
Richard was "a hobby" of Dr. Bowdler's, his niece perceived.
"His very hair is like a mane," he said; "he's as uncouth as a young
giant that don't feel his strength. I say this, Mary: that the boy will
never be goodish and weak: he'll be greatly good or greatly bad."
The young lady noticed how intently Starke listened; she wondered if he
had forgotten entirely his own God-sent mission, and turned baby-tender
altogether.
"What has become of your model, Mr. Starke?" she asked.
Dr. Bowdler looked up uneasily; it was a subject he never had dared to
touch.
"Andrew keeps it," said Starke, with a smile, "for the sake of old
times, side by side with his lantern, I believe."
"You never work with it?"
"No; why should I? The principle has since been made practical, as you
know, better than I could have done it. My idea was too crude, I can see
now. So I just grazed success, as one may say.
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