Maggie stayed, and a sign “To Let or For Sale” was planted in front of the house beside the flagstone walk; and Mrs. Ives tried to feel that it was a stroke of good fortune when within a week a tenant was secured. She tried equally to feel that good fortune was again hers when she hired, only a quarter of a mile away, a comfortable apartment for considerably less than the rent she was to receive for the house. But she shrank none the less from the preparation that soon had to be made for moving. Often she burst into tears and left Maggie to execute or direct the undertaking on which she had been engaged. In those depressed moods her surest consolation was in the re-reading of the letters of sympathy that had come to her after her husband’s death and that had shown her how widely he had been loved, how truly he had been respected. Perhaps the letter that she read most often and with the greatest satisfaction was that from Dr. Wallace; she had always felt that by the men of his profession her husband had never been accorded full recognition; yet here surely was the proof that she had been mistaken. Dr. Wallace wrote as one who had known and appreciated and admired. And his son had written to David, a boyish, sympathetic letter, with this sentence at the end, “My father says that yours was fine.” Those letters were not the only ones that helped to remove the old bitterness over what had seemed to her the failure of the community to accord her husband the place that he had earned; now at the end of all came letters upon letters testifying to the existence of an affection that she had thought withheld. She read them over and over, but Dr. Wallace’s oftenest of all.
David’s plan was to go back to the high school after Christmas, finish out the year and then try to find work in some business office. He felt that he must abandon his ambition to be a surgeon and must set about establishing himself in a position where he could at an early date contribute to the support of the family and to Ralph’s education. His mother lamented the necessity and protested against the sacrifice, but was unable to suggest any alternative.
Christmas was a day that David and his mother looked forward to with no happy expectancy. But on Christmas Eve they all hung up their stockings as usual, and after Ralph had gone to bed David assisted his mother in arranging the presents.
“So many,” Mrs. Ives sighed, “that our friends have given us! And we have been able to give to so few!”
“Never mind,” David answered. “People aren’t going to think about that.”
He kissed his mother—a paternal sort of kiss. Often in those days he felt quite paternal toward her.
The next morning, though Mrs. Ives could not bring herself to respond, “Merry Christmas!” to that greeting, delivered by each of her sons and by Maggie, she did enjoy the pleasant spectacle of Ralph’s excitement and of her older boy’s eager interest as they opened bundles; she even had a mild pleasure in examining the things that had been given to her. It became more than that; it became a tenderer emotion when she found the books that were the gifts of her two boys. But it was the arrival of the postman, about the middle of the morning, that furnished the great sensation of the day. He left several Christmas cards, two or three little packages and a letter for David. The envelope bore the address of St. Timothy’s School.
David opened it and in a moment was crying with excitement, “Mother! Mother! Just look at this!” His face was so eager, his eyes were so shining that Ralph came crowding up to look over his mother’s shoulder as she read:
My Dear David: One who is deeply interested in you and who has an affectionate memory of your father and of his hopes and ambitions for you has communicated to me his wish that you return to St. Timothy’s and complete your course. He is not only well able to bear the expense, but he is eager to do so; in fact, he has already placed a sum of money to your credit here, and I am therefore sending you a check to cover your traveling expenses. He does not wish to make himself known to you now; he hopes that you will not make any inquiries concerning him. He has other grounds than those of modesty for requesting this.
We shall all welcome you back after the Christmas holidays. And I am very glad indeed that the school is not after all to lose one of its best pupils.