"Mrs.Rouncewell," said Sir Leicester, "I can never consent to argue, as you know, with any one on any subject.

You had better get rid of your boy; you had better get him into some Works.

The iron country farther north is, I suppose, the congenial direction for a boy with these tendencies." Farther north he went, and farther north he grew up; and if Sir Leicester Dedlock ever saw him when he came to Chesney Wold to visit his mother, or ever thought of him afterwards, it is certain that he only regarded him as one of a body of some odd thousand conspirators, swarthy and grim, who were in the habit of turning out by torchlight two or three nights in the week for unlawful purposes.
Nevertheless, Mrs.Rouncewell's son has, in the course of nature and art, grown up, and established himself, and married, and called unto him Mrs.Rouncewell's grandson, who, being out of his apprenticeship, and home from a journey in far countries, whither he was sent to enlarge his knowledge and complete his preparations for the venture of this life, stands leaning against the chimney-piece this very day in Mrs.Rouncewell's room at Chesney Wold.
"And, again and again, I am glad to see you, Watt! And, once again, I am glad to see you, Watt!" says Mrs.Rouncewell.

"You are a fine young fellow.

You are like your poor uncle George.