“Why do you sigh so heavily, my boy? are you so tired as all that?  But one would think, as well as you love books, those fine ones would ’liven you up.  Where are they?  Let me see them.”

“I left them at the school, Aunt Hannah.  I will go and fetch them to-morrow.”

“There’s that sigh again!  What is the matter with you, child?  Are you growing lazy?  Who got the gold medal?”

“It wasn’t a medal, Aunt Hannah.  Mr. Middleton wanted to give something useful as well as costly for the first prize; and he said a medal was of no earthly use to anybody, so he made the prize a gold watch and chain.”

“But who got it?”

“I did, aunt; there it is,” said Ishmael, taking the jewel from his neck and laying it on the table.

“Oh! what a beautiful watch and chain! and all pure gold! real yellow guinea gold!  This must be worth almost a hundred dollars!  Oh, Ishmael, we never had anything like this in the house before.  I am so much afraid somebody might break in and steal it!” exclaimed Hannah, her admiration and delight at sight of the rich prize immediately modified by the cares and fears that attend the possession of riches.

Ishmael did not reply; but Hannah went on reveling in the sight of the costly bauble, until, happening to look up, she saw that Ishmael, instead of drinking his tea, sat with his head drooped upon his hand in sorrowful abstraction.

“There you are again!  There is no satisfying some people.  One would think you would be as happy as a king with all your prizes.  But there you are moping.  What is the matter with you, boy?  Why don’t you drink your tea?”

“Aunt Hannah, you drink your own tea, and when you have done it I will have a talk with you.”

“Is it anything particular?”

“Very particular, Aunt Hannah; but I will not enter upon the subject now,” said Ishmael, raising his cup to his lips to prevent further questionings.

But when the tea was over and the table cleared away, Ishmael took the hand of his aunt and drew her towards the door, saying: 

“Aunt Hannah, I want you to go with me to my mother’s grave.  It will not hurt you to do so; the night is beautiful, clear and dry, and there is no dew.”

Wondering at the deep gravity of his words and manner, Hannah allowed him to draw her out of the house and up the hill behind it to Nora’s grave at the foot of the old oak tree.  It was a fine, bright, starlight night, and the rough headstone, rudely fashioned and set up by the professor, gleamed whitely out from the long shadowy grass.

Ishmael sank down upon the ground beside the grave, put his arms around the headstone, and for a space bowed his head.

Hannah seated herself upon a fragment of rock near him.  But both remained silent for a few minutes.

It was Hannah who broke the spell.

“Ishmael, my dear,” she said, “why have you drawn me out here, and what have you to say to me of such a serious nature that it can be uttered only here?”