When Gordon finished reading the letter there were tears in his eyes.

He laid the letter in his father’s lap, and the old gentleman read it through slowly.  He sat lost in reflection for a few moments and then handed the letter back to Gordon.

“Write to him and thank him, my son—­thank him warmly for both of us.  I will never forget his kindness.  He is a gentleman.”

This was all; but he too showed in his face that that far-off shaft of light had reached his heart and rested there.

The General afterwards meditated deeply as to the wisdom of this action.  Just then, however, Providence seemed to come to his aid.

Old Adam Rawson, hearing that he was hard up, or moved by some kindly impulse, offered to make him a loan.  He “happened to have,” he wrote, “a little pile lying by that he didn’t have any particular use for just then, and it had come to him that, maybe, the General might be able to use it to advantage.  He didn’t care anything about security or interest.”

The General was perplexed.  He did not need it himself, but he was glad to borrow enough to send Gordon to college for a year.  He sent Gordon up to old Rawson’s with a letter.

The old man read the letter and then looked Gordon over; he read it and looked him over again, much as if he were appraising a young steer.

“Well, I didn’t say I’d lend it to you,” he said; “but, maybe, I’ll do it if ‘twill help the General.  Investin’ in a young man is kind of hazardous; it’s like puttin’ your money in a harry-dick—­you don’t know what he’s goin’ to be.  All you has to go on is the frame and your jedgment.”

Fortunately for Keith, the old cattle-dealer had a good opinion of his “jedgment.”  He went on:  “But I admit blood counts for somethin’, and I’m half minded to adventure some on your blood.”

Gordon laughed.  He would be glad to be tried on any account, he said, and would certainly repay the money.

“Well, I b’lieve you will if you can,” said the squire.  “And that’s more than I can say of everybody.  I’ll invest a leetle money in your future, and I want to say this to you, that your future will depend on whether you pay it back or not.  I never seen a young man as didn’t pay his debts come to any good in my life, and I never seen one as did as didn’t.  I’ve seen many a man’d shoot you if you dared to question his honor, an’ wouldn’t pay you a dollar if he was lousy with ’em.”  He took out his wallet, and untying the strings carefully, began to count out the greenbacks.

“I have to carry a pretty good pile to buy calves with,” he chuckled; “but I reckon you’ll be a fair substitute for one or two.  How much do you want—­I mean, how little can you git along with?”

Gordon told him the amount his father had suggested.  It was not a great sum.

“That seems a heap of money to put in book-learnin’,” said the old man, thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on Gordon.  “My whole edication didn’t cost twenty-five dollars.  With all that learnin’, you’d know enough to teach the Ridge College.”