Tommy Remington's Battle

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

“All right, Tommy,” he said, in a voice not very steady. “I’m not th’ man t’ stand in my boy’s light. Mebbe ef I’d hed a chance like this when I was a boy, I could ’a’ give you a show myself. But I can’t.”

The mother hastily brushed away a tear that was trickling down her wrinkled cheek.

“Come here, Tommy,” she said, and when she had him in her arms: “Your pa ain’t hed much chance, thet’s so,” she said, “but he’s done th’ best he could, an’ he’s been a good man t’ me. Don’t y’ fergit thet, an’ don’t y’ ever be ashamed o’ your pa.”

“You hush, mother,” protested her husband; but there was a tenderness in his voice which made the command almost a caress. After all, not even the slavery of the mines can kill love in the heart, so it be pure and honest, and that little mountain cabin was a shrine that afternoon.

Bright and early the next morning, Tommy, with shining face, took the good news to the minister, and together they rejoiced at it, as did Miss Andrews when she heard. Then work began with new earnestness. Both of them recognized the fact that no education could be sound which was not firmly grounded on the rudiments, the “three R’s,” so they confined themselves to these foundation-stones, and budded them as strongly as they could. There was no more question of working in the mine in the afternoon. His father labored there without a helper, doing two men’s work, blasting down the coal and then loading it on the cars—at what a sacrifice no one unacquainted with the mines can understand. For there is a great social gulf between the miner and the laborer: each has his certain work to do, and does only that. But the father conquered his pride and dared to step down for a time to the lower scale; not without qualm and hesitation and moments of vexation; but there was another light with him besides the smoking oil one that flickered in his cap—a light which came from the heart and made the wearing labor almost easy.

It was not proposed to send Tommy to the preparatory school until mid-September, so there were ten months remaining for work at home. And it was astonishing what progress they made. He had grown through his early boyhood, his mind like a great blank sheet of paper, ready to show and to retain the slightest touch. The beginning had been good,—there had been no false start, no waste of energy, no storing the precious chamber of the mind with useless lumber,—and the progress was still better. Long and anxiously did his two teachers consult together over the best methods to pursue in this unusual case, and his progress proved the wisdom of their decisions.

So the months passed. Spring came, and summer, and at last it was time for Miss Andrews to close her school and return to her home. She was almost sorry to go, her work had grown so fascinating, her life so full and useful. She had come to look upon the world about her from a view-point altogether changed; she thought no longer of how it might affect her, but of how she might affect it. In a word, she had grown to a true woman’s stature, in mind as well as body. But Tommy’s studies were arranged for the summer, and she would be back again before he left for the East. He and the minister waved her good-by from the platform of the little yellow frame station, and turned back to their work. Those summer months were the hardest of them all, for his tutor was determined that the boy should make a good showing at the school, and so kept him close at work, watching carefully, however, to see he was not driven beyond his capacity and the edge taken from his eagerness for knowledge. But, despite the long hours of study, Tommy kept health and strength and freshness. All his life he had used his body only; now he was using his brain, with all the unspent energy of those boyish years stored up in it. And when his other teacher came back to her school she was astonished at his progress.

Mr. Bayliss had good news for her, too, of another sort.

“I have secured him a scholarship,” he said. “I knew I could count on the help of the head-master. It is an unusual concession, too, for the scholarships are rarely granted until the end of the first term. But they have never before had a case like this, and it appealed to them, as I knew it would. So three hundred dollars a year will see him through.”

“That is fine!” she cried. “I will see about the money at once.”