"Why, what a misspending of precious sorrow!" exclaimed the schoolmaster. "Do you think because a man has not a gold-mine he must die of hunger? I once heard of a sparrow that never had a worm left for the morrow, and died a happy death notwithstanding." As he spoke he took her handkerchief from her hand and dried her tears with it. But he had enough ado to keep his own back. "Because I won't take a bagful of gold from you when I don't want it," he went on, "do you think I should let myself starve without coming to you? I promise you I will let you know--come to you if I can--the moment I get too hungry to do my work well and have no money left. Should I think it a disgrace to take money from _you_? That would show a poverty of spirit such as I hope never to fall into. My _sole_ reason for refusing now is that I do not need it." But for all his loving words and assurances Clementina could not stay her tears. She was not ready to weep, but now her eyes were as a fountain. "See, then, for your tears are hard to bear, my daughter," he said, "I will take one of these golden ministers, and if it has flown from me ere you come, seeing that, like the raven, it will not return if once I let it go, I will ask you for another. It _may_ be God's will that you should feed me for a time." "Like one of Elijah's ravens," said Clementina, with an attempted laugh that was really a sob. "Like a dove whose wings are covered with silver and her feathers with yellow gold," said the schoolmaster. A moment of silence followed, broken only by Clementina's failures in quieting herself. "To me," he resumed, "the sweetest fountain of money is the hand of love, but a man has no right to take it from that fountain except he is in want of it. I am not. True, I go somewhat bare, my lady; but what is that when my Lord would have it so?" He opened again the bag, and slowly, reverentially indeed, drew from it one of the new sovereigns with which it was filled. He put it in a waistcoat pocket and laid the bag on the table. "But your clothes are shabby, sir," said Clementina, looking at him with a sad little shake of the head. "Are they?" he returned, and looked down at his lower garments, reddening and anxious. "I did not think they were more than a little rubbed, but they shine somewhat," he said. "They are indeed polished by use," he went on with a troubled little laugh: "but they have no holes yet--at least none that are visible," he corrected. "If you tell me, my lady, if you honestly tell me, that my garments"--and he looked at the sleeve of his coat, drawing back his head from it to see it better--"are unsightly, I will take of your money and buy me a new suit." Over his coat-sleeve he regarded her, questioning.