"Are you not glad that you passed?"

There was a quivering about the lips but no reply.

"Your mother and father will be very glad," said the school-master, and
looked at Oyvind.

The boy struggled hard to gain power of utterance, finally he asked in
low, broken tones,--

"Is it--because I--am a houseman's son that I only stand number nine or
ten?"

"No doubt that was it," replied the school-master.

"Then it is of no use for me to work," said Oyvind, drearily, and all
his bright dreams vanished. Suddenly he raised his head, lifted his
right hand, and bringing it down on the table with all his might, flung
himself forward on his face and burst into passionate tears.

The school-master let him lie and weep,--weep as long as he would. It
lasted a long time, but the school-master waited until the weeping grew
more childlike. Then taking Oyvind's head in both hands, he raised it
and gazed into the tear-stained face.

"Do you believe that it is God who has been with you now," said he,
drawing the boy affectionately toward him.

Oyvind was still sobbing, but not so violently as before; his tears
flowed more calmly, but he neither dared look at him who questioned nor