How slowly the two days passed after the examination was over before the result was known! It was to be announced on Friday evening at seven o’clock. Gerald spent the days at home. So great was Mr. Eversley’s own excitement, as the fateful hour drew near, that he had arranged for a telegram to be sent at once to Wickeston, the postal town nearest to Kestercham, and a special messenger to be despatched with it from Wickeston--a distance of four miles--to Kestercham. He did not tell Gerald of the expected telegram, fearing it might not arrive owing to some mistake. It arrived between nine and ten o’clock. Gerald had gone to bed. Mr. Eversley went up to his room, the telegram in his hand, and opened the door gently. Gerald was asleep. The expression on his face was a little anxious, even in sleep. Mr. Eversley stood over him for several minutes, uncertain whether to wake him or not. At last he resolved to leave him in his peaceful slumber, and turning away he retired to his study and humbly rendered thanks to God. Nor did he omit to pray that the event which seemed so happy might in its issue prove a blessing for his son and for himself. Early next morning Gerald awoke. He became conscious that a face was bending over him. He muttered wearily, ‘Oh! this dreadful day! When shall we hear?’ ‘It is all well, my dear boy,’ said his father’s voice. ‘You are elected; you are third.’ And the father and son embraced each other. Kestercham vicarage was a scene of rejoicing that day, and for many days afterwards. Even Mrs. Eversley’s heart warmed towards the boy who had conferred distinction upon her name and household, and she caused a large birthday cake to be made for tea-time. The neighbours, lay and clerical, who had never taken much notice of Gerald before, called to congratulate Mr. Eversley, not a few of them, especially the ladies, declaring that they had always discerned conspicuous classical ability in his son, and predicted his success. Gerald’s scholarship was the topic of general conversation in the porch of the church before the morning service on the following Sunday, not that the farmers and labourers who forgathered there knew anything--good honest souls!--about scholarships, but they had a vague idea that the vicar’s clever son had somehow passed into a higher sphere than their own; and two or three, as a sort of delegation, went behind the curtain after the service to wish Mr. Eversley (who was just taking off his black gown) joy of the event. ‘Oh! Master Gerald,’ said Mr. Seaford, who, when Gerald was very small, had often let him put his little legs astride of the big cart-horses as they drew the heavily laden wains into the stackyard under the bright harvest moon, ‘ye’ll be too great a man to sit astride o’ my Captain any more; it’s ye who’ll have to give _us_ a lift now!’ and with that he laughed a hearty laugh, and put out his hand to Mr. Eversley who clasped it warmly.