had gathered even a sweeter, more cooing tenderness than was heard in her other songs.
"If I were ever to know the real words, I should still go on in my old way with them," said Mirah, when she had repeated the hymn several times.
"Why not?" said Deronda. "The lisped syllables are very full of meaning."
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs Meyrick. "A mother hears something like a lisp in her children's talk to the very last. Their words are not just what everybody else says, though they may be spelt the same. If I were to live till my Hans got old, I should still see the boy in him. A mother's love, I often say, is like a tree that has got all the wood in it, from the very first it made."
"Is not that the way with friendship, too?" said Deronda, smiling. "We must not let mothers be too arrogant."
The bright little woman shook her head over her darning.
"It is easier to find an old mother than an old friend. Friendships begin with liking or gratitude—roots that can be pulled up. Mother's love begins deeper down."
"Like what you were saying about the influence
