"You'll curl up and die if you do that," he said. "Besides, if mother
were here she wouldn't let you do it, so you oughtn't to. The reason why
she's gone to be a governess is because she wouldn't let you give up the
Motor, father. You know it is."

"Yes. It's true--but--" he hesitated.

"You simply can't do it, that's all. So I'm perfectly certain you won't!
I believe everything will come round all right, anyway, if you only
don't worry. That's what I believe, father."

"It's a hopeful view, at all events. The only objection to it is that
it's a good deal like dreaming, and I've no right to dream any more.
When you see that I'm going to, you must make me sit up and mind my
lesson!"

He even laughed a little, and it was not badly done, considering that he
did it on purpose to show how he meant to make the best of it all,
though Hope would not do anything for him. He ate something too, if only
to keep the hungry boy company.

They went into the workshop, and found the bright moonlight streaming
through the window that looked east. It fell full on the motionless
Motor, under its plate-glass case, and turned all the steel and brass to
silver and gold, and from the clean snow that covered the desolateness
of the yard outside the moon sent a white reflection upwards that
mingled with the direct moonlight in a ghostly sort of way. Newton stood
still and looked at the machine, while Overholt felt about for matches.