“You can see yourself that, even supposing you had the mental qualifications, such a sum, generous as it is in itself, would not suffice to carry you far.”
“No-no, sir.”
“On the other hand, if you wish it, I will gladly arrange to get you an apprentice’s place with a good handicraftsman here. You would have free board there, and—well, if you should want clothes the first year or so, I dare say we could manage that. You will be better without pocket-money to fling about until you can earn it for yourself.”
Peer sighed, and drooped as he stood. When he saw the green-backed book locked into its drawer again, and heard the keys rattle as they went back into a pocket under the dressing-gown, he felt as if some one were pointing a jeering finger at him, and saying, “Yah!”
“Then there’s another thing. About your name. What name have you thought of taking, my lad—surname, I mean?”
“My name is Peer Holm!” said the boy, instinctively drawing himself up as he had done when the bishop had patted his head at the confirmation and asked his name.
The schoolmaster pursed up his lips, took off his spectacles and wiped them, put them on again, and turned to the bookshelves with a sigh. “Ah, indeed!—yes—yes—I almost thought as much.”
Then he came forward and laid a hand kindly on Peer’s shoulder.
“My dear boy—that is out of the question.”
A shiver went through Peer. Had he done something wrong again?