Donald knew, and his mother knew too, that he must shift for
himself, to sink or swim.
So, after two days' rest, which he much needed, the boy went off
again "on his own hook," and his bicycle, which was a degree
better than his legs, he said, as it saves shoe-leather. Also,
he was able to come home pretty regularly at the same hour, which
was a great relief to his mother. But he came home nearly as
tired as ever, and with a despondent look which deepened every
day. Evidently it was just the same story; no work to be had; or
if there was work, it was struggled for by a score of fellows,
with age, character, and experience to back them, and Donald had
none of the three. But he had one quality, the root of all
success in the end, dogged perseverance.
There is a saying, that we British gain our victories, not
because we are never beaten, but because we never will see that
we are beaten, and so go on fighting till we win. "Never say
die," was Donald's word to his mother night after night. But she
knew that those who never SAY die, sometimes DO die, quite
quietly, and she watched with a sore heart her boy growing
thinner and more worn, even though brown as a berry with constant
exposure all day long to wind and weather, for it was now less
autumn than winter.
After a fortnight, Mrs. Boyd made up her mind that this could not
go on any longer, and said so. "Very well," Donald answered,
accepting her decision as he had been in the habit of doing all
his life.
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