The crash resulting in the sweeping away of the money, and the death of her husband, had almost stunned the young widow. But she rallied, and bravely took up the battle of life.
Mrs. Taylor was an expert needlewoman, and some of her former friends kept her well supplied with work. She managed, with a small income from some investments her husband had made before the crash, to keep Tom at his studies, and, eventually, he went to the high school, where he was in attendance when our story opens.
It did not take Tom long to realize that he was every day becoming more and more of an expense to his widowed mother. His clothes never seemed to wear very well. There were certain books and other materials to buy, that he might keep up his school work. And his appetite was not a small one.
He saw the need of more money, and resolved to earn it himself after school hours. He secured a place in the grocery of Mr. Blackford, and by delivering orders, helping to keep the stock in order, and doing the hundred and one things that always can be done about a grocery, he managed to add a few dollars to the weekly income.
But now, owing, as Mr. Blackford had alleged, to a desire on his part to save money, he had told Tom his services would no longer be required.
“Though I’ll wager he’s found some one who will do it more cheaply than I did,” declared Tom. “Well, he won’t get any one to do it any better, that’s sure. I’m going to see Wendell to-morrow, after school. He may need a boy in his store.”
“Oh, Tom, they say he’s mean and cruel. No one likes to work for him,” objected Mrs. Taylor.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” replied the lad, laughing. “I don’t mind hard work. I’d have to work hard if I went to West Point.”
His mother smiled. She did wish her fine-looking son could have his wish, but it seemed out of the question. In silence the two strolled on through the wood, to the far edge.
There, standing amid the trees, they could look across a narrow valley to where a railroad embankment wound its way along the shore of a small river. In the distance could be seen a large bridge, and, crossing the river on this, the S. & C. V. Railroad entered the village of Preston.