Holm took the letter and read:
"In accordance with your request, I have been giving lessons for some time to little Hans Martinsen, whose gift for music is really surprising. Though I do not consider myself fully qualified to judge the precise value of his talent, I would say, as my personal opinion, that the child shows quite unusual promise. And I am convinced that with skilful and attentive tuition, he could in time become a player of mark.
"I am an old man now, and am not otherwise competent to train such talent as it should be trained, but as a lover of music myself, I beg you to assist the child; you will find your reward, I'm sure. If I could afford it, I would gladly contribute as far as I was able, but as you know I am not in a position to do so. I will not, however, accept any payment for the lessons given, but should be glad to feel that I have made some little offering myself towards his future."
Holm read the letter through once more.
"Little man, we must send you to Christiania to study there. I'll arrange it all, and you shall have the best teacher that's to be had."
Hans sat twirling his cap, and made no answer.
"Well, Hans, aren't you glad? Wouldn't you like to go on with your music?"
"Yes, but I can't. I can't go away and leave mother; there'll be nobody to help her then."
"Don't worry about that, my boy; your mother shall go with you. No more washing; all she'll need to do will be just to look after you."
"But—how? Mother couldn't go away like that!"