What did it mean?  Had Sam told her to do that, or was it a mere repetition of her old trick?  No matter, it brought a rush of warm feeling into Yan’s heart.  He coaxed the little cherub back and whispered, “No, Minnie, I’ll never tell.”  He began to see how crazy he had been.  Sam was such a good fellow, he was very fond of him, and he wanted to make up; but no—­with Sam holding threats of banishment over him, he could not ask for forgiveness.  No, he would do nothing but wait and see.

He met Mr. Raften again and again that evening and nothing was said.  He slept little that night and was up early.  He met Mr. Raften alone—­rather tried to meet him alone.  He wanted to have it over with.  He was one of the kind not prayed for in the Litany that crave “sudden death.”  But Raften was unchanged.  At breakfast Sam was as usual, except to Yan, and not very different to him.  He had a swelling on his lip that he said he got “tusslin’ with the boys somehow or nuther.”

After breakfast Raften said: 

“Yahn, I want you to come with me to the schoolhouse.”

“It’s come at last,” thought Yan, for the schoolhouse was on the road to the railroad station.  But why did not Raften say “the station”?  He was not a man to mince words.  Nothing was said about his handbag either, and there was no room for it in the buggy anyway.

Raften drove in silence.  There was nothing unusual in that.  At length he said: 

“Yahn, what’s yer father goin’ to make of ye?”

“An artist,” said Yan, wondering what this had to do with his dismissal.

“Does an artist hev to be bang-up eddicated?”

“They’re all the better for it.”

“Av coorse, av coorse, that’s what I tell Sam.  It’s eddication that counts.  Does artists make much money?”

“Yes, some of them.  The successful ones sometimes make millions.”

“Millions?  I guess not.  Ain’t you stretchin’ it just a leetle?”

“No, sir.  Turner made a million.  Titian lived in a palace, and so did Raphael.”

“Hm.  Don’t know ’em, but maybe so—­maybe so.  It’s wonderful what eddication does—­that’s what I tell Sam.”

They now drew near the schoolhouse.  It was holiday time, but the door was open and on the steps were two graybearded men.  They nodded to Raften.  These men were the school trustees.  One of them was Char-less Boyle; the other was old Moore, poor as a church mouse, but a genial soul, and really put on the Board as a lubricant between Boyle and Raften.  Boyle was much the more popular.  But Raften was always made trustee, for the people knew that he would take extremely good care of funds and school as well as of scholars.