"Leave it unsaid!" cried his father. "'Tis best so." Then rising from his seat, he stood a moment as if in thought, and passed through the open door to the next room, opened a cupboard there and took something out.
"No son of mine goes out from this house a beggar," said he proudly, and held out his hand.
"You can put the money back," said the boy, with no less pride.
"'Tis but poor provision for a journey, anyway, if a man can't manage for himself," he added, turning away.
His father stood still, looking at him earnestly, as if trying to read something.
"'Tis no harm to a man to manage for himself if he can," said he slowly. He spoke in no angry tone, but with a stern approval.
The boy stood thinking for a moment.
"Good-bye, father."
His father did not answer, but stared fixedly before him, and his eyes hardened.
His mother had seated herself on a bench beside the window, her face turned away, looking out—and warm drops fell on the sill.