Mother was the only one to whom I told the whole story of my experience in the “tempest” and of Colton's call. She and I had a long talk. She was as surprised to hear of the five thousand dollar offer as I had been, but that I had refused it did not surprise her. She seemed to take my refusal as a matter of course, whereas I was more and more doubtful of my sanity at the time. I knew well enough what the opinion of others would be concerning that sanity and I wondered whether or not they might be right. In fact, I rather resented her calm certainty.
“Mother,” said I, “you speak as if the offer had been five cents instead of five thousand dollars.”
“What difference does it make, Boy?” she asked. “If it had been only a matter of price you would have sold for six hundred and fifty. That is a good deal more than the land is worth, isn't it.”
“I suppose so. But five thousand is a small fortune to us. I am not sure that we have the right to refuse it.”
“Roscoe, if you were alone in this matter—if I were not here to be considered at all—would you have sold the land, no matter what he offered?”
“I don't know, Mother. I think, perhaps, I should.”
“I know you would not. And I know the only reason you feel the refusal may be wrong is because you are thinking what the money might do for me. Do you suppose I will permit you to sacrifice a principle you know is right simply that I may have a few more luxuries which I don't need?”
“But you do need them. Why, there are so many things you need.”
“No, I don't need one. So long as I have you I am perfectly happy. And it would not make me more happy to know that you accepted a bribe—that is what it is, a bribe—because of me. No, Boy, you did exactly right and I am proud of you.”
“I am not particularly proud of myself.”