It was the objection the minister had been waiting for, and he seized upon it eagerly.
“We’ll provide for all that, Mr. Remington,” he said. “It sha’n’t cost you a cent. Of course I know the struggle you have to get along—that every miner has. But every big college has hundreds of scholarships for deserving young men, and there are many ways in which the students can make money enough to pay all their expenses.”
He glanced at Tommy, and saw that his lips were trembling. Mrs. Remington was nervously clasping and unclasping her hands. Even her husband was more moved than he cared to show.
“I’m not going to press you for a decision now,” added the minister. “It’s too grave a question to decide hastily. Yet, if you consider your son’s welfare, I don’t see how you can decide against him. Send him to me to-morrow with your decision. It will be a great thing for him if he can go,” he concluded, and took his leave.
There was silence for a few minutes in the little room. Mrs. Remington continued knitting her fingers together, while her husband stared moodily through the window at the visitor’s retreating form. Tommy sat glued to his chair, hopeful and despairing by turns, not daring to speak. No such momentous crisis had ever before appeared in his life.
“Well, Silas,” said his mother, at last, “it’s like th’ preacher says. It’s a great chance fer th’ boy. He wouldn’t be a-takin’ all this trouble ef he didn’t think th’ boy was worth it.”
The miner turned slowly away from the window and glanced at her and then at their son.
“Would y’ like t’ go, Tommy?” he asked.
There was a tone in his voice which told that the battle was already won. The boy recognized its meaning in an instant.
“Oh, father!” he cried, and his arms were about his neck.