“No, nothing is the matter, my son,” Mrs. Gilman answered to the boy’s start of surprise, and half frightened, half sleepy question. “I did not mean to wake you up, Sam, I came to see if you were asleep yet and quite comfortable. Are you sure you have clothes enough? It’s going to be a very cold night.”
“Plenty, mother,—it’s just like you to be worried. I thought it must be morning first, or father was sick, or something. Good night,” and he turned still drowsily to his pillow.
“Sam, did you know your father had concluded to go to California?”
“Goodness, mother!” and all sleepiness was gone in an instant, the boy sat up in bed, and looked at his mother eagerly.
“Yes, he has decided to go, and I’ve been thinking if it wouldn’t be better for you to go along.”
“Me?”
“I guess it’s best, Sam. I don’t see how I can spare you very well: but your father will need you more than we shall; we shall make out to get along somehow. You will be coming home some day with a fortune, like the young princes in the story books.”
Mrs. Gilman tried to speak playfully, but it was hard work to keep down the sobs.
“It isn’t like you, mother, to want me to leave you and the girls, just to make money. I’ve heard you say too many times, that you would be contented to live any way, so long as we could all be together, and work for each other. What put it into your mind?”