Strangely enough, he was frequently pondering over very material things when he sang his best and when his eyes seemed most dreamy.
"What were you a-thinking of this mornin' in church when you was singin' the Ave Maria?" his mother had once inquired.
"Why, didn't I sing it well?" he asked anxiously.
"Yaas, better than ever before, and yer faice looked loike an angel's."
"Well, I was promisin' God that if ever I got rich enough to ride about in a carriage like the lords do that come and lay foundation stones and opens schools and things, I'd invite all the little children what's so miserable to tea and muffins."
Mrs. Ermen smiled sadly. She had no belief in her son
ever rising to be anything better than a wretched waif, fated to live and die in Paradise Court. But as long as he was honest, and brave, and true to his friends, she must not complain. She was content, almost happy indeed, when she looked around her and saw boys of George's age swearing and fighting and drinking, while George was sober, well behaved, and industrious.
Maggie Reed knew in her young soul that George would surely live to be a great man, and often when they roamed about the weary streets together, she would cheer him with her childish confidence.
"We'll live on 'Ampstead 'Eath, George, when you're rich and we're married, at one of them big 'ouses by the pond, and we'll 'ave donkey rides and bicycles and things."
"Yes, darling," George would answer.