give me, the sacrifices she had made to give me the little schooling I
had had, the nights she had sewed to make my life a little easier, the
tears she dropped on my bed when she came and tucked me in when I was
asleep, the pangs of motherhood, and the pains worse than those of
motherhood which she had endured because she was poor, and married to
a beast.

I would make all this up to her if I could. I went into Madison, much as
a man goes to his wedding; only the woman of my dreams was my mother.
But I felt as I did that night when I returned to Tempe after my first
summer on the canal--full of hope and anticipation, and yet with a
feeling in my heart that again something would stand in my way.

CHAPTER V

THE END OF A LONG QUEST

I went to seek my mother in my best clothes. I had bought some new
things in Milwaukee, and was sure that my appearance would comfort her
greatly. Instead of being ragged, poverty-stricken, and
neglected-looking, I was a picture of a clean, well-clothed working boy.
I had on a good corduroy suit, and because the weather was cold, I wore
a new Cardigan jacket. My shirt was of red flannel, very warm and thick;
and about my neck I tied a flowered silk handkerchief which had been
given me by a lady who was very kind to me once during a voyage by
canal, and was called "my girl" by the men on the boat. I wore good kip
boots with high tops, with shields of red leather at the knees, each
ornamented with a gilt moon and star--the nicest boots I ever had; and I
wore my pants tucked into my boot-tops so as to keep them out of the
snow and also to show these glories in leather. With clouded woolen
mittens on my hands, given me as a Christmas present by Mrs. Fogg,
Captain Sproule's sister, that winter I worked for her near Herkimer,
and a wool cap, trimmed about with a broad band of mink fur, and a long
crocheted woolen comforter about my neck, I was as well-dressed a boy
for a winter's day as a body need look for. I took a look at myself in
the glass, and felt that even at the first glance, my mother would feel
that in casting her lot with me she would be choosing not only the
comfort of living with her only son but the protection of one who had
proved himself a man.

I glowed with pride as I thought of our future together, and of all I
would do to make her life happy and easy. I never was a better boy in my
life than on that winter evening when I went up the hilly street from
the tavern in Madi