’AndIamsuretheboyspeakstrue，’saidPeter。’HeonlysaysaboutyourhandwhatIhaveknowneversolongaboutyourself，Joan。Curdie，yourmother’sfootisasprettyafootasanylady’sintheland，andwhereherhandisnotsoprettyitcomesofkillingitsbeautyforyouandme，myboy。AndIcantellyoumore，Curdie。Idon’tknowmuchaboutladiesandgentlemen，butI
amsureyourinsidemothermustbealady，asherhandtellsyou，andIwilltrytosayhowIknowit。Thisishow：whenIforgetmyselflookingatherasshegoesaboutherwork—andthathappensoftenasIgrowolder—IfancyforamomentortwothatIamagentleman;andwhenIwakeupfrommylittledream，itisonlytofeelthemorestronglythatImustdoeverythingasagentlemanshould。IwilltrytotellyouwhatImean，Curdie。Ifagentleman—Imeanarealgentleman，notapretendedone，ofwhichsorttheysaythereareamanyaboveground—ifarealgentlemanweretoloseallhismoneyandcomedowntoworkintheminestogetbreadforhisfamily—doyouthink，Curdie，hewouldworklikethelazyones？Wouldhetrytodoaslittleashecouldforhiswages？Iknowthesortofthetruegentlemanprettynearaswellashedoeshimself。Andmywife，that’syourmother，Curdie，she’satruelady，youmaytakemywordforit，forit’sshethatmakesmewanttobeatruegentleman。Wife，theboyisintherightaboutyourhand。’
’Now，Father，letmefeelyours，’saidCurdie，daringalittlemore。
’No，no，myboy，’answeredPeter。’Idon’twanttohearanythingaboutmyhandormyheadormyheart。IamwhatIam，andIhopegrowingbetter，andthat’senough。No，youshan’tfeelmyhand。
Youmustgotobed，foryoumuststartwiththesun。’