“We give you these, Marston, to show that we approve your effort. Mr. Farnham told us how you went to school last year. There were no obstacles you did not overcome. A long walk twice a day, with bitter, stinging cold, and still you made no excuse. You have worked faithfully during vacation, and Mr. Wyman will let your wages run through the next month. But you cannot go to school without clothes; we have no one to wear them now;” and tears were on both of our faces. “Here’s a cap, and boots too, that were Willie’s. I shall be glad to see you wear them. Willie loved books. He would have gone to college, had he lived.”
I could not answer; it was all so sudden, so unexpected. I could look back and see so many places where I had failed. With a full heart I hurried up to my room, thankful that I was to go to school, that a path had opened; and resolving anew that each moment should be spent to the best advantage.
How it would gladden Jennie’s heart. “One step at a time,” she had whispered to me so often; “Mr. Kirby said that was enough for you to plan now. All that you are required to do is the work of the present hour, and then forward to the next. You will do it yet, Marston, I know you will.”
Borne up on the encouragement of her words, I felt that I should. It would take years; but others had gone over the ground, and I could do the same; and with the thought of Mr. Kirby and Jennie, I fell asleep.
VIII.
It was said by a celebrated divine, “What we wish to be, that we become.” And perhaps it is so; for when our Creator allows a great longing to fill the soul, in the wish itself lies the surest pledge of its future realization. It was thus with me in reference to going to school. In addition to what Mrs. Wyman had given me, Miss Grimshaw had provided me an outfit, for it seemed she had an inkling that I was to return in September.
I spent one night with Jennie, and Wednesday found me at Rockdale. Mr. Wyman had taken me over in his buggy: he had business at Terryville, he said, and would like to call at the academy; he used to know Mr. Harlan. Taking a kind leave after a short call, he said,
“When your money gives out, don’t be afraid to call on me. You can pay me when you get through, if you like. If not, it will only be a trifle of what I should have done for Willie.”
This was the man whom I had often called cold and unfeeling since that morning on which I met Ezra Metcalf going back to the village: no sympathy for a young heart in its struggles, no encouragement to give one trying to do right. How my heart smote me now, as I stood and watched him till he was out of sight; and then I tried to concentrate all my thoughts on my lesson.