"Well, mother, what is it?"

 

The speaker was a sturdy, thick-set boy of fifteen, rather short for his age, but strongly made. His eyes were clear and bright, his expression was pleasant, and his face attractive, but even a superficial observer could read in it unusual firmness and strength of will. He was evidently a boy whom it would not be easy to subdue² or frighten. He was sure to make his way in the world, and maintain his rights against all aggression³. It was the general recognition of this trait which had led to the nickname, "Grit," by which he was generally known. His real name was Harry⁴ Morris, but even his mother had fallen into the habit of calling him Grit, and his own name actually sounded strange to him.

 

[Pg 4]

 

"Well, mother, what is it?" he asked again, as his mother continued to look at him in silence, with an expression of trouble on her face.

 

"I had a letter this morning, Grit."

 

"From—him?"

 

"Yes, from your father."

 

"Don't call him my father!" said the boy hastily. "He isn't my father."

 

"He is your stepfather—and my husband," said Mrs. Morris soberly.

 

"Yes, worse luck for you! Well, what does he say?"

 

"He's coming home."

 

An expression of dismay quickly gathered on the boy's face.

 

"How can that be? His term isn't out."

 

"It is shortened by good behavior, and so he comes out four months before his sentence would have expired."

 

"I wouldn't have him here, mother," said Grit earnestly. "He will only worry and trouble you. We are getting on comfortably now without him."

 

"Yes, thanks to my good, industrious⁵ boy."

 

"Oh, don't talk about that," said Grit, who always felt embarrassed when openly praised.

分享到：