Curdie's Father and Mother The eyes of the fathers and mothers are quick to read their children's looks, and when Curdie entered the cottage, his parents saw at once that something unusual had taken place.When he said to his mother, 'I beg your pardon for being so late,' there was something in the tone beyond the politeness that went to her heart, for it seemed to come from the place where all lovely things were born before they began to grow in this world.When he set his father's chair to the table, an attention he had not shown him for a long time, Peter thanked him with more gratitude than the boy had ever yet felt in all his life.It was a small thing to do for the man who had been serving him since ever he was born, but I suspect there is nothing a man can be so grateful for as that to which he has the most right.
There was a change upon Curdie, and father and mother felt there must be something to account for it, and therefore were pretty sure he had something to tell them.For when a child's heart is all right, it is not likely he will want to keep anything from his parents.But the story of the evening was too solemn for Curdie to come out with all at once.He must wait until they had had their porridge, and the affairs of this world were over for the day.
But when they were seated on the grassy bank of the brook that went so sweetly blundering over the great stones of its rocky channel, for the whole meadow lay on the top of a huge rock, then he felt that the right hour had come for sharing with them the wonderful things that had come to him.It was perhaps the loveliest of all hours in the year.The summer was young and soft, and this was the warmest evening they had yet had - dusky, dark even below, while above, the stars were bright and large and sharp in the blackest blue sky.The night came close around them, clasping them in one universal arm of love, and although it neither spoke nor smiled, seemed all eye and ear, seemed to see and hear and know everything they said and did.It is a way the night has sometimes, and there is a reason for it.The only sound was that of the brook, for there was no wind, and no trees for it to make its music upon if there had been, for the cottage was high up on the mountain, on a great shoulder of stone where trees would not grow.
There, to the accompaniment of the water, as it hurried down to the valley and the sea, talking busily of a thousand true things which it could not understand, Curdie told his tale, outside and in, to his father and mother.What a world had slipped in between the mouth of the mine and his mother's cottage! Neither of them said a word until he had ended.
'Now what am I to make of it, Mother? it's so strange!' he said, and stopped.
'It's easy enough to see what Curdie has got to make of it, isn't it, Peter?' said the good woman, turning her face toward all she could see of her husband's.
'it seems so to me,' answered Peter, with a smile which only the night saw, but his wife felt in the tone of his words.They were the happiest couple in that country, because they always understood each other, and that was because they always meant the same thing, and that was because they always loved what was fair and true and right better, not than anything else, but than everything else put together.
'Then will you tell Curdie?' said she.
