"It is for you to go out to Burma, dear. When my last letter reached him, and he knew of your father's hopeless state of health, Uncle Sam secured for you the chance of a situation in a rice firm in Rangoon. He says that there would be a salary at once, upon which you could live with care, and which would soon improve into something much better, and into a position from which, in a few years, you might help one of your brothers. It is not in the house of Herford Brothers,—I wish it were,—but, as he sails for them, he will often see you, and bring us home news of you. It would not be as if you went to quite a strange place, where you would know nobody; and, Ralph, it would be an immense relief even to have your keep off my hands just at present. Dear Agnes maintains herself by her teaching; Lisa's scholarship provides for her education; and if you, my darling boy, were not here we might double up closer and spare another room for a second lodger, which would be a great help to me. But I do not know how to part with you, Ralph, my boy,—my dear, dear boy!"
The poor lady bent her face down upon the curly, tousled head at her knee, and wept sorrowfully.
Ralph passed his arm round her neck in silence, for tumultuous emotion choked him, and he could not speak at first. There had been a time, not so long before, when he would have been wild with delight at the thought of leaving school, going abroad, seeing new countries, being independent. But recent events had sobered his spirits and made him more thoughtful.
He pondered the scheme now without excitement or selfish pleasure; he tried to think whether it would be well for his mother were he to leave her. It seemed to him that it would be so.
"Mother," said he, "it is not as if Agnes were not older than I. Agnes is seventeen, and a companion to you, while I am not old enough to take father's place with Jack and Reggie. They would not attend to me nor obey me."
"No, dear."
"Then when father was dying he bade me do my best to help you, and I promised that I would. If this is the best for you, mother, I must do it."
There was a manly ring in his voice as he said this, echoing so plainly the sound of the voice that was gone, that his mother almost felt as if it were her husband speaking to her in her son.
They sat silent for a long time, hand clasped in hand; then the sleeping child awoke, and recalled Mrs. Denham to her busy life.
"Uncle Sam is coming back to supper, and wants to talk to you about this," said she.