which promised little and so did not count--he had signed his
name with an X. Another had written the word John before that X,
and the word Imsen after; above, a word which he explained was
"his," and below the word "mark." John Imsen had stared down
suspiciously at the words, and he had not felt quite easy in his
mind until the bag of gold coins was actually in his keeping.
Also, he had been ashamed of that X. It was a simple thing to
make with a pen, and yet he had only succeeded in making it look
like two crooked sticks thrown down carelessly, one upon the
other. His face had gone darkly red with the shame of it, and he
had stood scowling down at the paper.

"That boy uh mine's goin' to do better 'n that, by God!" he had
sworn, and the words had sounded like a vow.

When, two months after that, he had faced--incredulously, as is
the way with strong men--the fact that for him life was over,
with nothing left to him save an hour or so of labored breath and
a few muttered sentences, he did not forget that vow. He called
Phoebe close to the bed, placed the bag of gold in Grant's
trembling hands, and stared intently from one face to the other.

"Mis' Hart, he ain't got--anybody--my folks--I lost track of 'em
years ago. You see to it--git some learnin' in his head. When a
man knows books--it's--like bein' heeled--good gun--plenty uh
ca't'idges-- in a fight. When I got that gold--it was like
fightin' with my bare hands--against a gatlin' gun. They coulda
cheated me--whole thing--on paper--I wouldn't know--luck--just
luck they didn't. So you take it--and git the boy schoolin'.
Costs money--I know that--git him all it'll buy. Send him--