In plain words
In that Rāmaśīla āśram there was a man called Narahari Dās, who was its head. That Narahari Dās took this boy, brought him up, gave him many tasks to do in his āśram, and had him taught. Within that āśram there was a tulasī garden. As long as there was study he studied; then he would go to this tulasī garden, water it and break off the dry twigs: such services he went on doing. As soon as the child reached the āśram, this Narahari Dās gave him a new name. That name was Rāmbholā. It was the name he gave. But the name Rāmbholā was known only to Narahari Dās and to those close to him; no one else knew it. And whenever he had time, whenever he had a minute to spare, he would go into the tulasī garden and serve there. It is, to some extent, the way of the world to call a man by a name taken from the work he does. From that day, quite commonly, those who came to the āśram and those who lived in it called him Tulasīdās, Tulasīdās. Because he was serving the tulasī, they called him Tulasīdās. In this way he grew and grew.
Little by little, writing songs on Rāma and singing them himself: such pursuits grew day by day. The moment a flower blooms it spreads its fragrance. In the same way the influence of this Tulasīdās, his Bhakti and his surrender, grew day by day. Though he had no gurus and had not trained under anyone, he sang his songs melodiously. They were exceedingly sweet. Learning that comes through a guru is bound to be artificial. What comes by nature is simply sweet. So this sweetness arose in Tulasīdās quite naturally. He listened well, with a pure mind, to all that this Narahari Dās told of the Rāmāyaṇa. What he heard he went on writing as a most sacred poem, in his own words, with his own feeling, by the resolves of his own mind. Now and then this Narahari too would see it and be glad within himself.