“When is thee going to be married?” said Tom again, at last.
“The time’s not fixed yet; some time in the eleventh month, I guess.”
After a while Tom’s father spoke.
“What’s thee going to do now, Thomas?” said he.
“I don’t know exactly,” said Tom, huskily; “I’m going to Philadelphia again on the first stage to-morrow.”
His mother looked earnestly at him, and the tears rose in her eyes, and rolled slowly down her cheeks; then she pushed back her chair, and left the table hurriedly.
Presently they all arose and went into the sitting-room. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, for, though the days were warm, the evenings were cool and frosty. The four men sat down around the fire, smoking and talking together in a rambling fashion. Their words were constrained, for each felt upon his mind the parting that was to come to-morrow.
So the time passed until the old clock in the corner struck nine. Then Tom’s father arose in the way that Tom knew so well, and lit his candle with one of the paper lamplighters on the mantle shelf. Before he left the room he came to Tom and laid his hand on his shoulder.
“Thy burthen’s heavy, Thomas,” said he; “bear it like a man.”
“I’ll try,” said Tom.