Outside, across the ice-locked lake and through the snow-burdened forest
swept the wolf-like howl of the wind.

Inside, there was the silence of a deeply troubled indecision. At last,
Tom Burton said:

"It's a right-hard thing to stake the welfare of a family on a boy's
notion of his own greatness--a notion that ain't never been tried out.
There's just one thing you've convinced me of, and it's this: You may
not be able to do anything worth-while in the world outside. You may be
a failure there, but I'm pretty sure, in your frame of mind, you'll be a
failure here. The man that makes a fight here has got to have his heart
in it an' he's got to love the soil. That don't fit your case! I ain't
ready to admit yet that I ain't the head of my own family. I ain't made
up my mind yet what we'll do. Maybe we'll stay right here an' maybe
we'll go away." The father ran one hand wearily through the thick hair
on his forehead and shook his head. "I've heard you out, an' we'll all
think on it an' dream on it. I've found right often when a feller's
perplexed an' can't reach a conclusion, he goes to sleep an' wakes up
with a clearer judgment. Once a mistake is made, it can't be unmade; but
I don't want you to think that I ain't ponderin' this question."

Ahead of him Ham saw Paul and Mary slip up the stairway and his aunt
rise, with the stiff disapproval of silence, and leave the room. He
himself remained only a few minutes longer and then with a low-voiced
good-night he pressed his father's hand, and felt the grip of stern
affection on his own. He took up and lighted the small lamp that was to
light him to bed, and as he climbed the boxed-in stairway, the shadows
wavered on the walls at each side, and he heard the wail of the wind
around the eaves.