The next morning at half-past seven o’clock Tom knocked at the door of Elihu Penrose’s house. The mill-house was about three-quarters of a mile from the turnpike, and as he had to meet the stage there about eight o’clock, he had only a few minutes in which to say farewell.
He walked straight into the dining-room. Patty was busy putting away the breakfast dishes, and Elihu sat at his old brass-handled desk, footing up his accounts. He looked up as Tom came in, and the color flew into Patty’s cheeks.
“Thee’s beginning thy courting early in the morning, Thomas,” said Elihu, dryly.
Tom vouchsafed no answer to this. He stood leaning against the door-frame, and his eyes were fixed upon Patty.
“I’m going to leave home this morning,” said he.
Neither of the three spoke for a moment or two. Tom stood looking at Patty, his hands clasped in front of him, feeling unutterably miserable. Elihu had arisen from his chair, and he and Patty were gazing at Tom, surprised at the suddenness of what he had told them. Then Elihu came forward and laid his hand on Tom’s shoulder.
“Thomas,” said he, “does thee mean that thee is going—”
“I mean that I’m going to leave Eastcaster for a year,” said Tom.
“This is—this is very sudden, Thomas,” said he.
Tom nodded his head.