Even the good Peter de
Groodt, who had considered himself a kind of patron of the lad, began
to despair of him; and would shake his head dubiously, as he listened
to a long complaint from the housekeeper, and sipped a glass of her
raspberry brandy.
Still his mother was not to be wearied out of her affection, by all
the waywardness of her boy; nor disheartened by the stories of his
misdeeds, with which her good friends were continually regaling her.
She had, it is true, very little of the pleasure which rich people
enjoy, in always hearing their children praised; but she considered
all this ill-will as a kind of persecution which he suffered, and she
liked him the better on that account. She saw him growing up, a fine,
tall, good-looking youngster, and she looked at him with the secret
pride of a mother's heart. It was her great desire that Dolph should
appear like a gentleman, and all the money she could save went towards
helping out his pocket and his wardrobe. She would look out of the
window after him, as he sallied forth in his best array, and her heart
would yearn with delight; and once, when Peter de Groodt, struck with
the youngster's gallant appearance on a bright Sunday morning,
observed, "Well, after all, Dolph does grow a comely fellow!" the tear
of pride started into the mother's eye: "Ah, neighbour! neighbour!"
exclaimed she, "they may say what they please; poor Dolph will yet
hold up his head with the best of them.
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