“There!” he said; “do you think Paul would have stopped preaching to make a tent so long as he had as much as that in his pocket? I shall have more on Saturday, and I always carry a month’s rent in my good old watch, for which I never had much use, and now have less than ever.”
Clementina had been struggling with herself; now she burst into tears.
“Why, what a misspending of precious sorrow!” exclaimed the schoolmaster. “Do you think because a man has not a gold mine he must die of hunger? I once heard of a sparrow that never had a worm left for the morrow, and died a happy death notwithstanding.”
As he spoke he took her handkerchief from her hand and dried her tears with it. But he had enough ado to keep his own back.
“Because I won’t take a bagful of gold from you when I don’t want it,” he went on, “do you think I should let myself starve without coming to you? I promise you I will let you know—come to you if I can, the moment I get too hungry to do my work well, and have no money left. Should I think it a disgrace to take money from you? That would show a poverty of spirit such as I hope never to fall into. My sole reason for refusing it now is that I do not need it.”
But for all his loving words and assurances Clementina could not stay her tears. She was not ready to weep, but now her eyes were as a fountain.
“See, then, for your tears are hard to bear, my daughter,” he said, “I will take one of these golden ministers, and if it has flown from me ere you come, seeing that, like the raven, it will not return if once I let it go, I will ask you for another. It may be God’s will that you should feed me for a time.”
“Like one of Elijah’s ravens,” said Clementina, with an attempted laugh that was really a sob.
“Like a dove whose wings are covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold,” said the schoolmaster.
A moment of silence followed, broken only by Clementina’s failures in quieting herself.