His mother, knitting before the fire in her own room, greeted him with her usual quiet smile of welcome. He tried to give her a humorous account of his catechism of the morning, but failed.
"I am quite sure that he doesn't like me," said Stephen.
His mother continued to smile.
"If he did, he would not show it," she answered.
"I can feel it," said Stephen, dejectedly.
"The Judge was here this afternoon," said his mother.
"What?" cried Stephen. "Again this week? They say that he never calls in the daytime, and rarely in the evening. What did he say?"
"He said that some of this Boston nonsense must be gotten out of you," answered Mrs. Brice, laughing. "He said that you were too stiff. That you needed to rub against the plain men who were building up the West. Who were making a vast world-power of the original little confederation of thirteen states. And Stephen," she added more earnestly, "I am not sure but what he is right."
Then Stephen laughed. And for a long time he sat staring into the fire.
"What else did he say?" he asked, after a while.