"No, there is not much cash in that," he repeated.
"Things have gone mighty hard," said Amos Burr. "It's been a bad year. I ain't sayin' nothin' 'bout the work yo' ma an' Sairy Jane an' me have done. That don't seem to count, somehow. But nothin' ain't come straight, an' thar ain't a cent to pay the taxes. If we can't manage to tide over this comin' winter thar'll have to be a mortgage in the spring."
Sairy Jane began to cry softly. One of the children joined in.
"Give me time," said Nicholas breathlessly. "Give me time. I'll pay it all in time." Then the sound of Sairy Jane's sobs maddened him and he turned upon her with an oath. "Damn you! Can't you be quiet?"
It seemed to him that they were all closing upon him and that there was no opening of escape.
Marthy Burr put down her iron and came to where he stood, laying her hand upon his sleeve.
"Don't mind 'em, Nick," she said, and her sharp voice broke suddenly. "Go ahead an' make a man of yo'self, mortgage or no mortgage."
Nicholas lifted his gaze from the floor and looked into his stepmother's face. Then he looked at her hand as it lay upon his arm. That trembling hand brought to him more fully than words, more clearly than visions, the pathos of her life.
"Don't you worry, ma," he said quietly at last. "It'll be all right. Don't you worry."
Then he let her hand slip from his shoulder and left the room.