“Of course,” said the Old Gentleman, “you are going to school and probably for the first time—and therefore your legs are as weak as pins, you have a cold pain in the middle of your chest, and you have an intense desire to see your mother again.”
Peter admitted that this was true, although it wasn't his mother whom he wished to see so much as a friend of his called Stephen, and, one or two places like the Grey Hill and The Bending Mule. All this interested the Old Gentleman very much.
“You, too, were at school?” Peter inquired politely.
“I was,” said the Old Gentleman.
“And was it like David Copperfield?” said Peter.
“Parts of it—the nice parts. School was the best, the very best time of my life, my boy, and so you'll find it.”
This was immensely reassuring, and Peter felt very much cheered. “You will make all the friends of your life there. You will learn to be a man. Dear me!” The Old Gentleman coughed. “I don't know what I would have done without school. You must have courage, you know,” he added.
“I heard some one say once,” said Peter, “that courage is the most important thing to have. It isn't life that matters, but courage, this man said.”
“Bless my soul,” the Old Gentleman said, “how old are you, boy?”
“Twelve—nearly thirteen,” answered Peter.