“How are you, Henry?” asked Jerome.

Henry made no reply, only scowled more gloomily.  Paulina Maria’s ardent severity of Christianity had produced in her son, under his first stress of life, a fierce rebound.  To no word of Scripture would Henry Judd resort for comfort; he never bent knee in prayer, and would not be led, even by his mother’s authority, to meeting on Sunday.  The voice of his former mates, who had with him no sympathy of like affliction, filled him with a sullen rage of injury.  He was somewhat younger than Jerome, but had seemed formerly much attracted to him.  Now he had not spoken to him for a year.

Jerome, when he entered, had looked happy and eager, as if he was burdened with some pleasant news.  Now his expression changed; he looked at Adoniram, then at Henry, then at Adoniram again, and motioned an inquiry with his lips.  Adoniram shook his head sadly.

Paulina Maria came in through the kitchen, where she had left her scrubbing utensils, got an unfinished shoe, and sat down to her binding.  She did not notice Jerome again, and he sat frowning moodily at the floor.

“It is a cold night for the season,” remarked Adoniram, at length, with an uneasy attempt at entertainment, to which Jerome did not respond with much alacrity.  He acted at first as if he did not hear, then collected himself, said that it was cold, and there might be a frost if the wind went down, and rose.

“You ain’t goin’ so soon?” asked Adoniram, with slow surprise.

“I only ran over for a minute; I’ve got some work to do,” muttered Jerome, and went out.

He went along the ridgy cart-path across the field to the road, but when he reached it he stopped short.  He stood for ten minutes or more, motionless, thinking so intently that it was as if his body stood aside from his swift thought, then he returned to the Judd house.

He went around to the back door, but when he reached it he stopped again.  After a little he crept noiselessly back to the cart-path, and so to the road again.

But it was as if, when he reached the road, he met some unseen and mighty arm of denial which barred it.  He stopped there for the second time.  Then he went back again to the Judd house, and this time when he reached the door he opened it and went in.

When he entered the sitting-room, where Adoniram and Paulina Maria and Henry were, they all looked up in astonishment.

“Forgot anything?” inquired Adoniram.

“Yes,” replied Jerome.  Then he went on, speaking fast, in a strained voice, which he tried hard to make casual.  “There was something I wanted to say.  I’ve been thinking about Henry’s eyes.  If—­you want to take him to Boston, to that doctor, I’ve got the money.  I’ve got five hundred dollars you’re welcome to.  I believe you said it would take that.”  He looked straight at Paulina Maria as he spoke, and she dropped her work and looked at him.