“You’re in the sixth form this year, aren’t you?” asked Clint.

“Yes, this is my last year.”

“And you’ve been here five already!” Clint marvelled.  “My, that’s a long time, isn’t it?  You’ll feel queer, won’t you, when you don’t come back next Fall?”

Penny nodded soberly.  “It’ll be—­funny,” he agreed.  “I don’t suppose you’ll quite understand it, Thayer, but—­well, this school is more like a real home than any other place I know.  You see, my mother died a long while ago; I was just a toddler then; and my father married again.  Then, when I was eleven, he died and now I live with my stepmother and her brother.  He’s not a bad sort of man, Uncle Steve.  I just call him uncle, of course.  But my stepmother never liked me much, and then, besides, father didn’t leave much money when he died and she sort of feels that she can’t afford to pay my education.  I’ve always had to fight to get back here every year.  Uncle Steve helped me some, but he’s kind of scared of ma and doesn’t dare say much.  That’s why school seems like home.  When I go back to Parkerstown it’s more like going on a visit than going home.  And after this year it’s going to seem funny, unless I go to college.”

“But you are going, aren’t you?” asked Clint anxiously.

“If I can.  Mr. Fernald says he’s hoping to get me a scholarship that will pretty nearly see me through my freshman year, but there’s nothing certain about it, because there are always a lot of folks after those scholarships and there aren’t very many of them.  I guess that’s about the only way I’ll manage it.”

“I do hope you get it,” said Clint with genuine sympathy.  “I suppose you couldn’t—­couldn’t find any way to work through, Durkin.”

“I’ve thought of that.  I don’t know.  I’ve done pretty well here, buying and selling all kinds of things.  You wouldn’t think there’d be much money in it, would you?  But since my second year I’ve done a lot of it and made nearly enough each year to pay my tuition.  That’s the only way I’ve been able to stay.  I guess ma argued that I’d cost her less at school, making most of the money myself, than I would at home.  Fellows sometimes call me a ‘Yankee’ and a ‘Shylock’ and things like that because I try to get all the money I can for a thing.  But I’ve never cheated anyone; and—­and I’ve really needed the money.  But I don’t believe a fellow could do that in college.  There might be another way, though.  I’ve heard of fellows making a lot of money in college.”

“Seems to me,” said Clint, “it’s your step-mother’s duty to look after you and pay for your schooling.  It’s your father’s money she’s using, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but there’s not a great deal of it, I suppose.  I never knew how much he did leave.  And ma’s fond of nice things and it costs a good deal to live, I guess.  Oh, if I can get that scholarship I’ll be all right.  You see, though, don’t you, why I didn’t want to scrap with Dreer?  It might have just queered everything for me.”