There had been a period of prosperity following the strange visit of Wandering Peter. John Strong’nth’arm came back to his workshop another man, or so it seemed to little Anthony. A brisk, self-confident person who often would whistle while he worked. The job on which he had been engaged when taken ill had been well finished and further orders had resulted. There were times when the temporary assistance of an old jobbing tinker and his half-witted son was needful. Mrs. Strong’nth’arm, discussing things in general with a neighbour, would casually¹ refer to “Our workpeople.” That uncle in Australia, or elsewhere, who had been fading year by year almost to disappearing point, reappeared out of the shadows. With the gambler’s belief that when once the luck changes every venture is bound to come home, she regarded his sudden demise³ as merely a question of time. She wondered how much he would leave them. She hoped it would be sufficient to enable them to become gentlefolks.

 

“What is a gentlefolk?” asked Anthony, to whom she had been talking.

 

 

It was explained to him that gentlefolk were people who did not have to work for their living. Mrs. Strong’nth’arm had served them and knew.

 

There were others, who sat in offices and gave orders. To this lesser⁴ rank it was possible to climb by industry and virtue⁵. But first of all you must go to school and learn.

 

His mother caught him up in her thin arms and pressed him passionately⁶ to her narrow bosom⁷.

 

“You will be a gentleman,” she prophesied⁸. “I feel it. I’ve prayed God every night since you were born.” She smothered⁹ him with kisses and then put him down.

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