“You built that boat with your own hands, you say?”
“With my own hands, sir.”
“In two weeks’ time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And rowed it all the way down the river, and up the Pochaug?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy! You may go in and have your supper,” said Mr. Bushnell, patting him on the back, just as he had done when he returned from college with his first award.
As for Madam Bushnell, she smiled down upon Lady Fenwick and did her great reverence in her heart, while she said to the boat-builder:
“David, dear, wait a few minutes, and I’ll give 82 you something nice and warm for your supper. Your father, Ezra and I had ours long ago.”
That night Mr. Bushnell did not lie awake to listen for the stealthy stepping in the upper room. He slept all the sounder, because he had at last seen one stroke of honest work, as he called it, as the result of his endeavors to help David on in life.