"All right, teacher, I'll be good," he protested, and bent his huge shoulders low over his task. He bore so hard on the frail quill pen the ink ran in a big blot.
"Not so hard, Tom!" she cried.
"But I got so much strenk in my right arm I jist can't hold it back."
"You must try again."
He tried again and made a heavy tremulous line. His arm moved at a snail's gait and wobbled frightfully.
"Make the line quicker," she urged encouragingly. "Begin at the top and come down——"
"Here, you show me how!"
She took his rough hand quietly in hers, and guided it swiftly from right to left in straight smooth lines until a dozen were made, when he suddenly drew her close, kissed her lips, and held the slender fingers in a grip of iron. She lay still in his embrace for a moment, released herself and turned from him with a sigh. He drew her quickly to the light of the fire and saw the unshed tears in her eyes.
"What's the use ter worry, Nancy gal?" he said. "Give it up ez a bad job. I wouldn't fool with no sech scholar ef I wuz you. Ye can't teach an old dog new tricks——"
"I won't give up!" she cried with sudden energy. "I can teach you and I will. I won't give up and be nobody. O Tom, you promised me before we were married to let me teach you—didn't you promise?"