CHAPTER V. THE PRIZE WINNER
"Are you going to the examination to-day, mother?" asked Harry, at breakfast.
"I should like to go," said Mrs. Walton, "but I don't see how I can. To-day's my bakin' day, and somehow my work has got behindhand during the week."
"I think Harry'll get the prize," said Tom, a boy of ten, not heretofore mentioned. He also attended the school, but was not as promising as his oldest brother.
"What prize?" asked Mrs. Walton, looking up with interest.
"The master offered a prize, at the beginning of the term, to the scholar that was most faithful to his studies."
"What is the prize?"
"A book."
"Do you think you will get it, Harry?" asked his mother.
"I don't know," said Harry, modestly. "I think I have some chance of getting it."
"When will it be given?"
"Toward the close of the afternoon."
"Maybe I can get time to come in then; I'll try."
"I wish you would come, mother," said Harry earnestly. "Only don't be disappointed if I don't get it. I've been trying, but there are some other good scholars."
"You're the best, Harry," said Tom.
"I don't know about that. I shan't count my chickens before they are hatched. Only if I am to get the prize I should like to have mother there."
"I know you're a good scholar, and have improved your time," said Mrs. Walton. "I wish your father was rich enough to send you to college."
"I should like that very much," said Harry, his eyes sparkling at merely the suggestion.
"But it isn't much use hoping," continued his mother, with a sigh. "It doesn't seem clear whether we can get a decent living, much less send our boy to college. The cow is a great loss to us."
Just then Mr. Walton came in from the barn.
"How do you like the new cow, father?" asked Harry.
"She isn't equal to our old one. She doesn't give as much milk within two quarts, if this morning's milking is a fair sample."
"You paid enough for her," said Mrs. Walton.
"I paid too much for her," answered her husband, "but it was the best I could do. I had to buy on credit, and Squire Green knew I must pay his price, or go without."
"Forty-three dollars is a great deal of money to pay for a cow."
"Not for some cows. Some are worth more; but this one isn't."
"What do you think she is really worth?"
"Thirty-three dollars is the most I would give if I had the cash to pay."
"I think it's mean in Squire Green to take such advantage of you," said Harry.
"You mustn't say so, Harry, for it won't do for me to get the squire's ill will. I am owing him money. I've agreed to pay for the cow in six months."
"Can you do it?"
"I don't see how; but the money's on interest, and it maybe the squire'll let it stay. I forgot to say, though, that last evening when I went to get the cow he made me agree to forfeit ten dollars if I was not ready with the money and interest in six months. I am afraid he will insist on that if I can't keep my agreement."
"It will be better for you to pay, and have done with it."
"Of course. I shall try to do it, if I have to borrow the money. I suppose I shall have to do that."
Meantime Harry was busy thinking. "Wouldn't it be possible for me to earn money enough to pay for the cow in six months? I wish I could do it, and relieve father."
He began to think over all the possible ways of earning money, but there was nothing in particular to do in the town except to work for the farmers, and there was very little money to earn ill that way. Money is a scarce commodity with farmers everywhere. Most of their income is in the shape of farm produce, and used in the family. Only a small surplus is converted into money, and a dollar, therefore, seems more to them than to a mechanic, whose substantial income is perhaps less. This is the reason, probably, why farmers are generally loath to spend money. Harry knew that if he should hire out to a farmer for the six months the utmost he could expect would be a dollar a week, and it was not certain he could earn that. Besides, he would probably be worth as much to his father as anyone, and his labor in neither case provide money to pay for the cow. Obviously that would not answer. He must think of some other way, but at present none seemed open. He sensibly deferred thinking till after the examination.
"Are you going to the school examination, father?" asked our hero.
"I can't spare time, Harry. I should like to, for I want to know how far you have progressed. 'Live and learn,' my boy. That's a good motto, though Squire Green thinks that 'Live and earn' is a better."
"That's the rule he acts on," said Mrs. Walton. "He isn't troubled with learning."
"No, he isn't as good a scholar probably as Tom, here."
"Isn't he?" said Tom, rather complacently.
"Don't feel too much flattered, Tom," said his mother.
"You don't know enough to hurt you."
"He never will," said his sister, Jane, laughing.
"I don't want to know enough to hurt me," returned Tom, good humoredly. He was rather used to such compliments, and didn't mind them.
"No," said Mr. Walton; "I am afraid I can't spare time to come to the examination. Are you going, mother?"
It is quite common in the country for husbands to address wives in this manner.
"I shall try to go in the last of the afternoon," said Mrs. Walton.
"If you will come, mother," said Harry, "we'll all help you afterwards, so you won't lose anything by it."
"I think I will contrive to come."
The examination took place in the afternoon. Mr. Burbank preferred to have it so, for two reasons. It allowed time to submit the pupils to a previous private examination in the morning, thus insuring a better appearance in the afternoon. Besides, in the second place, the parents were more likely to be at liberty to attend in the afternoon, and he naturally liked to have as many visitors as possible. He was really a good teacher, though his qualifications were limited; but as far as his knowledge went, he was quite successful in imparting it to others.
In the afternoon there was quite a fair attendance of parents and friends of the scholars, though some did not come in till late, like Mrs. Walton. It is not my intention to speak of the examination in detail. My readers know too little of the scholars to make that interesting. Ephraim Higgins made some amusing mistakes, but that didn't excite any surprise, for his scholarship was correctly estimated in the village. Tom Walton did passably well, but was not likely to make his parents proud of his performances. Harry, however, eclipsed himself. His ambition had been stirred by the offer of a prize, and he was resolved to deserve it. His recitations were prompt and correct, and his answers were given with confidence. But perhaps he did himself most credit in declamation. He had always been very fond of that, and though he had never received and scientific instruction in it, he possessed a natural grace and a deep feeling of earnestness which made success easy. He had selected an extract from Webster—the reply to the Hayne—and this was the showpiece of the afternoon. The rest of the declamation was crude enough, but Harry's impressed even the most ignorant of his listeners as superior for a boy of his age. When he uttered his last sentence, and made a parting bow, there was subdued applause, and brought a flush of gratification to the cheek of our young hero.
"This is the last exercise," said the teacher "except one. At the commencement of the term, I offered a prize to the scholar that would do the best from that time till the close of the school. I will now award the prize. Harry Walton, come forward."
Harry rose from his seat, his cheeks flushed again with gratification, and advanced to where the teacher was standing.
"Harry," said Mr. Burbank, "I have no hesitation in giving you the prize. You have excelled all the other scholars, and it is fairly yours. The book is not of much value, but I think you will find it interesting and instructive. It is the life of the great American philosopher and statesman, Benjamin Franklin. I hope you will read and profit by it, and try like him to make your life a credit to yourself and a blessing to mankind."
"Thank you, sir," said Harry, bowing low. "I will try to do so."
There was a speech by the chairman of the school committee, in which allusion was made to Harry and the prize, and the exercises were over. Harry received the congratulations of his schoolmates and others with modest satisfaction, but he was most pleased by the evident pride and pleasure which his mother exhibited, when she, too, was congratulated on his success. His worldly prospects were very uncertain, but he had achieved the success for which he had been laboring, and he was happy.
CHAPTER VI. LOOKING OUT ON THE WORLD
It was not until evening that Harry had a chance to look at his prize. It was a cheap book, costing probably not over a dollar; but except his schoolbooks, and a ragged copy of "Robinson Crusoe," it was the only book that our hero possessed. His father found it difficult enough to buy him the necessary books for use in school, and could not afford to buy any less necessary. So our young hero, who was found of reading, though seldom able to gratify his taste, looked forward with great joy to the pleasure of reading his new book. He did not know much about Benjamin Franklin, but had a vague idea that he was a great man.
After his evening "chores" were done, he sat down by the table on which was burning a solitary tallow candle, and began to read. His mother was darning stockings, and his father had gone to the village store on an errand.
So he began the story, and the more he read the more interesting he found it. Great as he afterwards became, he was surprised to find that Franklin was a poor boy, and had to work for a living. He started out in life on his own account, and through industry, frugality, perseverance, and a fixed determination to rise in life, he became a distinguished an in the end, and a wise man also, though his early opportunities were very limited. It seemed to Harry that there was a great similarity between his own circumstances and position in life and those of the great man about whom he was reading, and this made the biography the more fascinating. The hope came to him that, by following Franklin's example, he, too, might become a successful man.
His mother, looking up at intervals from the stockings which had been so repeatedly darned that the original texture was almost wholly lost of sight of, noticed how absorbed he was.
"Is your book interesting, Harry?" she asked.
"It's the most interesting book I ever read," said Harry, with a sigh of intense enjoyment.
"It's about Benjamin Franklin, isn't it?"
"Yes. Do you know, mother, he was a poor boy, and he worked his way up?"
"Yes, I have heard so, but I never read his life."
"You'd better read this when I have finished it. I've been thinking that there's a chance for me, mother."
"A chance to do what?"
"A chance to be somebody when I get bigger. I'm poor now, but so was Franklin. He worked hard, and tried to learn all he could. That's the way he succeeded. I'm going to do the same."
"We can't all be Franklins, my son," said Mrs. Walton, not wishing her son to form high hopes which might be disappointed in the end.
"I know that, mother, and I don't expect to be a great man like him. But if I try hard I think I can rise in the world, and be worth a little money."
"I hope you wont' be as poor as your father, Harry," said Mrs. Walton, sighing, as she thought of the years of pain privation and pinching poverty reaching back to the time of their marriage. They had got through it somehow, but she hoped that their children would have a brighter lot.
"I hope not," said Harry. "If I ever get rich, you shan't have to work any more."
Mrs. Walton smiled faintly. She was not hopeful, and thought it probable that before Harry became rich, both she and her husband would be resting from their labor in the village churchyard. But she would not dampen Harry's youthful enthusiasm by the utterance of such a thought.
"I am sure you won't let your father and mother want, if you have the means to prevent it," she said aloud.
"We can't any of us tell what's coming, but I hope you may be well off some time."
"I read in the country paper the other day that many of the richest men in Boston and New York were once poor boys," said Harry, in a hopeful tone.
"So I have heard," said his mother.
"If they succeeded I don't see why I can't."
"You must try to be something more than a rich man. I shouldn't want you to be like Squire Green."
"He is rich, but he is mean and ignorant. I don't think I shall be like him. He has cheated father about the cow."
"Yes, he drove a sharp trade with him, taking advantage of his necessities. I am afraid your father won't be able to pay for the cow six months from now."
"I am afraid so, too."
"I don't see how we can possibly save up forty dollars. We are economical now as we can be."
"That is what I have been thinking of, mother. There is no chance of father's paying the money."
"Then it won't be paid, and we shall be worse off when the note comes due, than now."
"Do you think," said Harry, laying down the book on the table, and looking up earnestly, "do you think, mother, I could any way earn the forty dollars before it is to be paid?"
"You, Harry?" repeated his mother, in surprise, "what could you do to earn the money?"
"I don't know, yet," answered Harry; "but there are a great many things to be done."
"I don't know what you can do, except to hire out to a farmer, and they pay very little. Besides, I don't know of any farmer in the town that wants a boy. Most of them have boys of their own, or men."
"I wasn't thinking of that," said Harry. "There isn't much chance there."
"I don't know of any work to do here."
"Nor I, mother. But I wasn't thinking of staying in town."
"Not thinking of staying in town!" repeated Mrs. Walton, in surprise. "You don't want to leave home, do you?"
"No, mother, I don't want to leave home, or I wouldn't want to, if there was anything to do here. But you know there isn't. Farm work wont' help me along, and I don't' like it as well as some other kinds of work. I must leave home if I want to rise in the world."
"But your are too young, Harry."
This was touching Harry on a tender spot. No boy of fourteen likes to be considered very young. By that time he generally begins to feel a degree of self-confidence and self-reliance, and fancies he is almost on the threshold of manhood. I know boys of fourteen who look in the glass daily for signs of a coming mustache, and fancy they can see plainly what is not yet visible. Harry had not got as far as that, but he no longer looked upon himself as a young boy. He was stout and strong, and of very good height for his age, and began to feel manly. So he drew himself up, upon this remark of his mother's, and said proudly: "I am going on fifteen"—that sounds older than fourteen—"and I don't call that very young."
"It seems but a little while since you were a baby," said his mother, meditatively.
"I hope you don't think me anything like a baby now, mother," said Harry, straightening up, and looking as large as possible.
"No, you're quite a large boy, now. How quick the years have passed!"
"And I am strong for my age, too, mother. I am sure I am old enough to take care of myself."
"But you are young to go out into the world."
"I don't believe Franklin was much older than I, and he got along. There are plenty of boys who leave home before they are as old as I am."
"Suppose you are sick, Harry?"
"If I am I'll come home. But you know I am very healthy, mother, and if I am away from home I shall be very careful."
"But you would not be sure of getting anything to do."
"I'll risk that, mother," said Harry, in a confident tone.
"Did you think of this before you read that book?"
"Yes, I've been thinking of it for about a month; but the book put it into my head to-night. I seem to see my way clearer than I did. I want most of all, to earn money enough to pay for the cow in six months. You know yourself, mother, there isn't any chance of father doing it himself, and I can't earn anything if I stay at home."
"Have you mentioned the matter to your father yet, Harry?"
"No, I haven't. I wish you would speak about it tonight, mother. You can tell him first what makes me want to go."
"I'll tell him that you want to go; but I won't promise to say I think it a good plan."
"Just mention it, mother, and then I'll talk with him about it to-morrow."
To this Mrs. Walton agreed, and Harry, after reading a few pages more in the "Life of Franklin," went up to bed; but it was some time before he slept. His mind was full of the new scheme on which he had set his heart.
CHAPTER VII. IN FRANKLIN'S FOOTSTEPS
"Father," said Harry, the next morning, as Mr. Walton was about to leave the house, "there's something I want to say to you."
"What is it?" asked his father, imagining it was some trifle.
"I'll go out with you, and tell you outside."
"Very well, my son."
Harry put on his cap, and followed his father into the open air.
"Now, my son, what is it?"
"I want to go away from home."
"Away from home! Where?" asked Mr. Walton, in surprise.
"I don't know where; but somewhere where I can earn my own living."
"But you can do that here. You can give me your help on the farm, as you always have done."
"I don't like farming, father."
"You never told me that before. Is it because of the hard work?"
"No," said Harry, earnestly. "I am not afraid of hard work; but you know how it is, father. This isn't a very good farm, and it's all you can do to make a living for the rest of us out of it. If I could go somewhere, where I could work at something else, I could send you home my wages."
"I am afraid a boy like you couldn't earn very large wages."
"I don't see why not, father. I'm strong and stout, and willing to work."
"People don't give much for boys' work."
"I don't expect much; but I know I can get something, and by and by it will lead to more. I want to help you to pay for that cow you've just bought of Squire Green."
"I don't see how I'm going to pay for it," said Mr. Walton, with a sigh. "Hard money's pretty scarce, and we farmers don't get much of it."
"That's just what I'm saying, father. There isn't much money to be got in farming. That's why I want to try something else."
"How long have you been thinking of this plan, Harry?"
"Only since last night."
"What put it into your head?"
"That book I got as a prize."
"It is the life of Franklin, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Did he go away from home when he was a boy?"
"Yes, and he succeeded, too."
"I know he did. He became a famous man. But it isn't every boy that is like Franklin."
"I know that. I never expect to become a great man like him; but I can make something."
Harry spoke those words in a firm, resolute tone, which seemed to indicate a consciousness of power. Looking in his son's face, the elder Walton, though by no means a sanguine man, was inclined to think favorably of the scheme, But he was cautious, and he did not want Harry to be too confident of success.
"It's a new idea to me," he said. "Suppose you fail?"
"I don't mean to."
"But suppose you do—suppose you get sick?"
"Then I'll come home. But I want to try. There must be something for me to do in the world."
"There's another thing, Harry. It takes money to travel round, and I haven't got any means to give you."
"I don't want any, father. I mean to work my way. I've got twenty-five cents to start with. Now, father, what do you say?"
"I'll speak to your mother about it."
"To-day?"
"Yes, as soon as I go in."
With this Harry was content. He had a good deal of confidence that he could carry his point with both parents. He went into the house, and said to his mother:
"Mother, father's going to speak to you about my going away from home. Now don't you oppose it."
"Do you really think it would be a good plan, Harry?"
"Yes, mother."
"And if you're sick will you promise to come right home?"
"Yes, I'll promise that."
"Then I won't oppose your notion, though I ain't clear about its being wise."
"We'll talk about that in a few months, mother."
"Has Harry spoken to you about his plan of going away from home?" asked the farmer, when he reentered the house.
"Yes," said Mrs. Walton.
"What do you think?"
"Perhaps we'd better let the lad have his way. He's promised to come home if he's taken sick."
"So let it be, then, Harry. When do you want to go?"
"As soon as I can."
"You'll have to wait till Monday. It'll take a day or two to fix up your clothes," said his mother.
"All right, mother."
"I don't know but you ought to have some new shirts. You haven't got but two except the one you have on."
"I can get along, mother. Father hasn't got any money to spend for me. By the time I want some new shirts, I'll buy them myself."
"Where do you think of going, Harry? Have you any idea?"
"No, mother. I'm going to trust to luck. I shan't go very far. When I've got fixed anywhere I'll write, and let you know."
In the evening Harry resumed the "Life of Franklin," and before he was ready to go to bed he had got two thirds through with it. It possessed for him a singular fascination. To Harry it was no alone the "Life of Benjamin Franklin." It was the chart by which he meant to steer in the unknown career which stretched before him. He knew so little of the world that he trusted implicitly to that as a guide, and he silently stored away the wise precepts in conformity with which the great practical philosopher had shaped and molded his life.
During that evening, however, another chance was offered to Harry, as I shall now describe.
As the family were sitting around the kitchen table, on which was placed the humble tallow candle by which the room was lighted, there was heard a scraping at the door, and presently a knock. Mr. Walton answered it in person, and admitted the thin figure and sharp, calculating face of Squire Green.
"How are you, neighbor?" he said, looking about him with his parrotlike glance. "I thought I'd just run in a minute to see you as I was goin' by."
"Sit down, Squire Green. Take the rocking-chair."
"Thank you, neighbor. How's the cow a-doin'?"
"Middling well. She don't give as much milk as the one I lost."
"She'll do better bymeby. She's a good bargain to you, neighbor."
"I don't know," said Hiram Walton, dubiously. "She ought to be a good cow for the price you asked."
"And she is a good cow," said the squire, emphatically; "and you're lucky to get her so cheap, buyin' on time. What are you doin' there, Harry? School through, ain't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"I hear you're a good scholar. Got the prize, didn't you?"
"Yes," said Mr. Walton; "Harry was always good at his books."
"I guess he knows enough now. You'd ought to set him to work."
"He is ready enough to work," said Mr. Walton. "He never was lazy."
"That's good. There's a sight of lazy, shiftless boys about in these days. Seems as if they expected to earn their bread 'n butter a-doin' nothin'. I've been a thinkin', neighbor Walton, that you'll find it hard to pay for that cow in six months."
"I am afraid I shall," said the farmer, thinking in surprise, "Can he be going to reduce the price?"
"So I thought mebbe we might make an arrangement to make it easier."
"I should be glad to have it made easier, squire. It was hard on me, losing that cow by disease."
"Of course. Well, what I was thinkin' was, you might hire out your boy to work for me. I'd allow him two dollars a month and board, and the wages would help pay for the cow."
Harry looked up in dismay at this proposition. He knew very well the meanness of the board which the squire provided, how inferior it was even to the scanty, but well-cooked meals which he got at home; he knew, also that the squire had the knack of getting more work out of his men than any other farmer in the town; and the prospect of being six months in his employ was enough to terrify him. He looked from Squire Green's mean, crafty face to his father's in anxiety and apprehension. Were all his bright dreams of future success to terminate in this?
CHAPTER VIII. HARRY'S DECISION
Squire Green rubbed his hands as if he had been proposing a plan with special reference to the interest of the Waltons. Really he conceived that it would save him a considerable sum of money. He had in his employ a young man of eighteen, named Abner Kimball, to whom he was compelled to pay ten dollars a month. Harry, he reckoned, could be made to do about as much, though on account of his youth he had offered him but two dollars, and that not to be paid in cash.
Mr. Walton paused before replying to his proposal.
"You're a little too late," he said, at last, to Harry's great relief.
"Too late!" repeated the squire, hastily. "Why, you hain't hired out your boy to anybody else, have you?"
"No; but he has asked me to let him leave home, and I've agreed to it."
"Leave home? Where's he goin'?"
"He has not fully decided. He wants to go out and seek his fortune."
"He'll fetch up at the poorhouse," growled the squire.
"If he does not succeed, he will come home again."
"It's a foolish plan, neighbor Walton. Take my word for't. You'd better keep him here, and let him work for me."
"If he stayed at home, I should find work for him on my farm."
Mr. Walton would not have been willing to have Harry work for the squire, knowing well his meanness, and how poorly he paid his hired men.
"I wanted to help you pay for that cow," said the squire, crossly. "If you can't pay for't when the time comes you mustn't blame me."
"I shall blame no one. I can't foresee the future; but I hope to get together the money somehow."
"You mustn't ask for more time. Six months is a long time to give."
"I believe I haven't said anything about more time yet, Squire Green," said Hiram Walton, stiffly. "I don't see that you need warn me."
"I thought we might as well have an understandin' about it," said the squire. "So you won't hire out the boy?"
"No, I cannot, under the circumstances. If I did I should consider his services worth more than two dollars a month."
"I might give him two'n a half," said the squire, fancying it was merely a question of money.
"How much do you pay Abner Kimball?"
"Wal, rather more than that," answered the squire, slowly.
"You pay him ten dollars a month, don't you?"
"Wal, somewheres about that; but it's more'n he earns."
"If he is worth ten dollars, Harry would be worth four or six."
"I'll give three," said the squire, who reflected that even at that rate he would be saving considerable.
"I will leave it to Harry himself," said his father.
"Harry, you hear Squire Green's offer. What do you say? Will you go to work for him at three dollars a month?"
"I'd rather go away, as you told me I might, father."
"You hear the boy's decision, squire."
"Wal, wal," said the squire, a good deal disappointed—for, to tell the truth, he had told Abner he should not want him, having felt confident of obtaining Harry. "I hope you won't neither of ye regret it."
His tone clearly indicated that he really hoped and expected they would. "I bid ye good night."
"I'll hev the cow back ag'in," said the squire to himself. "He needn't hope no massy. If he don't hev the money ready for me when the time is up, he shan't keep her."
The next morning he was under the unpleasant necessity of reengaging Abner.
"Come to think on't, Abner," he said, "I guess I'd like to hev you stay longer. There's more work than I reckoned, and I guess I'll hev to have somebody."
This was at the breakfast table. Abner looked around him, and after making sure that there was nothing eatable left, put down his knife and fork with the air of one who could have eaten more, and answered, deliberately: "Ef I stay I'll hev to hev more wages."
"More wages?" repeated Squire Green, in dismay. "More'n ten dollars?"
"Yes, a fellow of my age orter hey more'n that."
"Ten dollars is a good deal of money."
"I can't lay up a cent off'n it."
"Then you're extravagant."
"No I ain't. I ain't no chance to be. My cousin, Paul Bickford, is gettin' fifteen dollars, and he ain't no better worker'n I am."
"Fifteen dollars!" ejaculated, the squire, as if he were naming some extraordinary sum. "I never heerd of such a thing."
"I'll work for twelve'n a half," said Abner, "and I won't work for no less."
"It's too much," said the squire. "Besides, you agreed to come for ten."
"I know I did; but this is a new engagement."
Finally Abner reduced his terms to twelve dollars, an advance of two dollars a month, to which the squire was forced to agree, though very reluctantly. He thought, with an inward groan, that but for his hasty dismissal of Abner the night before, on the supposition that he could obtain Harry in his place, he would not have been compelled to raise Abner's wages. This again resulted indirectly from selling the cow, which had put the new plan into his head. When the squire reckoned up this item, amounting in six months to twelve dollars, he began to doubt whether his cow trade had been quite so good after all.
"I'll get it out of Hiram Walton some way," he muttered. "He's a great fool to let that boy have his own way. I thought to be sure he'd oblige me arter the favor I done him in sellin' him the cow. There's gratitude for you!"
The squire's ideas about gratitude, and the manner in which he had earned it, were slightly mixed, it must be acknowledged. But, though he knew very well that he had been influenced only by the consideration of his own interest, he had a vague idea that he was entitled to some credit for his kindness in consenting to sell his neighbor a cow at an extortionate price.
Harry breathed a deep sigh of relief after Squire Green left the room.
"I was afraid you were going to hire me out to the squire, father," he said.
"You didn't enjoy the prospect, did you?" said his father, smiling.
"Not much."
"Shouldn't think he would," said his brother Tom.
"The squire's awful stingy. Abner Kimball told me he had the meanest breakfast he ever ate anywhere."
"I don't think any of his household are in danger of contracting the gout from luxurious living."
"I guess not," said Tom.
"I think," said Jane, slyly, "you'd better hire out Tom to the squire."
"The squire would have the worst of the bargain," said his father, with a good-natured hit at Tom's sluggishness.
"He wouldn't earn his board, however poor it might be."
"The squire didn't seem to like it very well," said Mrs. Walton, looking up from her mending.
"No, he fully expected to get Harry for little or nothing. It was ridiculous to offer two dollars a month for a boy of his age."
"I am afraid he will be more disposed to be hard on you, when the time comes to pay for the cow. He told you he wouldn't extend the time."
"He is not likely to after this; but, wife, we won't borrow trouble. Something may turn up to help us."
"I am sure I shall be able to help you about it, father," said Harry.
"I hope so, my son, but don't feel too certain. You may not succeed as well as you anticipate."
"I know that, but I mean to try at any rate."
"If you don't, Tom will," said his sister.
"Quit teasin' a feller, Jane," said Tom. "I ain't any lazier'n you are. If I am, I'll eat my head."
"Then you'll have to eat it, Tom," retorted Jane; "and it won't be much loss to you, either."
"Don't dispute, children," said Mrs. Walton. "I expect you both will turn over a new leaf by and by."
Meanwhile, Harry was busily reading the "Life of Franklin." The more he read, the more hopeful he became as to the future.
CHAPTER IX. LEAVING HOME
Monday morning came, and the whole family stood on the grass plat in front of the house, ready to bid Harry good-by. He was encumbered by no trunk, but carried his scanty supply of clothing wrapped in a red cotton handkerchief, and not a very heavy bundle at that. He had cut a stout stick in the woods near by, and from the end of this suspended over his back bore the bundle which contained all his worldly fortune except the twenty-five cents which was in his vest pocket.
"I don't like to have you go," said his mother, anxiously. "Suppose you don't get work?"
"Don't worry about me, mother," said Harry, brightly. "I'll get along somehow."
"Remember you've got a home here, Harry, whatever happens," said his father.
"I shan't forget, father."
"I wish I was going with you," said Tom, for the first time fired with the spirit of adventure.
"What could you do, Tom?" said Jane, teasingly.
"Work, of course."
"I never saw you do it yet."
"I'm no more lazy than you," retorted Tom, offended.
"Don't dispute, children, just as your brother is leaving us," said Mrs. Walton.
"Good-by, mother," said Harry, feeling an unwonted moistening of the eyes, as he reflected that he was about to leave the house in which he had lived since infancy.
"Good-by, my dear child," said his mother, kissing him.
"Be sure to write."
"Yes I will."
So with farewell greetings Harry walked out into the world. He had all at once assumed a man's responsibilities, and his face grew serious, as he began to realize that he must now look out for himself.
His native village was situated in the northern part of New Hampshire. Not far away could be seen, indistinct in the distance, the towering summits of the White Mountain range, but his back was turned to them. In the south were larger and more thriving villages, and the wealth was greater. Harry felt that his chances would be greater there. Not that he had any particular place in view. Wherever there was an opening, he meant to stop.
"I won't come back till I am better off," he said to himself. "If I don't succeed it won't be for want of trying."
He walked five miles without stopping. This brought him to the middle of the next town. He was yet on familiar ground, for he had been here more than once. He felt tired, and sat down by the roadside to rest before going farther. While he sat there the doctor from his own village rode by, and chanced to espy Harry, whom he recognized.
"What brings you here, Harry?" he asked, stopping his chaise.
"I'm going to seek my fortune," said Harry.
"What, away from home?"
"Yes, sir."
"I hadn't heard of that," said the doctor, surprised.
"You haven't run away from home?" he asked, with momentary suspicion.
"No, indeed!" said Harry, half indignantly. "Father's given his permission for me to go."
"Where do you expect to go?"
"South," said Harry, vaguely.
"And what do you expect to find to do?"
"I don't know—anything that'll bring me a living."
"I like your spunk," said the doctor, after a pause. "If you're going my way, as I suppose you are, I can carry you a couple of miles. That's better than walking, isn't it?"
"I guess it is," said Harry, jumping to his feet with alacrity.
In a minute he was sitting beside Dr. Dunham in his old-fashioned chaise. "I might have known that you were not running away," said the doctor. "I should be more likely to suspect your Brother Tom."
"Tom's too lazy to run away to earn his own living," said Harry, laughing, "as long as he can get it at home."
The doctor smiled.
"And what put it into your head to start out in this way?" he asked.
"The first thing, was reading the' Life of Franklin.'"
"To be sure. I remember his story."
"And the next thing was, because my father is so poor. He finds it hard work to support us all. The farm is small, and the land is poor. I want to help him if I can."
"Very commendable, Harry," said the doctor, kindly.
"You owe a debt of gratitude to your good father, who has not succeeded so well in life as he deserves."
"That's true, sir. He has always been a hard-working man."
"If you start out with such a good object, I think you will succeed. Have you any plans at all, or any idea what you would like to do?"
"I thought I should like to work in a shoe shop, if I got a chance," said Harry.
"You like that better than working on a farm, then?"
"Yes, sir, There isn't much money to be earned by working on a farm. I had a chance to do that before I came away."
"You mean working on your father's land, I suppose?"
"No, Squire Green wanted to hire me."
"What wages did he offer?"
"Two dollars a month, at first. Afterwards he got up to three."
The doctor smiled.
"How could you decline such a magnificent offer?" he asked.
"I don't think I should like boarding at the squire's."
"A dollar is twice as large at least in his eyes as in those of anyone else."
By this time they had reached a place where a road turned at right angles.
"I am going down here, Harry," said the doctor. "I should like to have you ride farther, but I suppose it would only be taking you out of your course."
"Yes, doctor. I'd better get out."
"I'll tell your father I saw you."
"Tell him I was in good spirits," said Harry, earnestly. "Mother'll be glad to know that."
"I will certainly. Good-by!"
"Good-by, doctor. Thank you for the ride."
"You are quite welcome to that, Harry."
Harry followed with his eyes the doctor's chaise. It seemed like severing the last link that bound him to his native village. He was very glad to have fallen in with the doctor, but it seemed all the more lonesome that he had left him.
Harry walked six miles farther, and then decided that it was time to rest again. He was not only somewhat fatigued, but decidedly hungry, although it was but eleven o'clock in the forenoon. However, it must be considered that he had walked eleven miles, and this was enough to give anyone an appetite.
He sat down again beside the road, and untying the handkerchief which contained his worldly possessions, he drew therefrom a large slice of bread and began to eat with evident relish. There was a slice of cold meat also, which he found tasted particularly good.
"I wonder whether they are thinking of me at home," he said to himself.
They were thinking about him, and when an hour later the family gathered around the table, no one seemed to have much appetite. All looked sober, for all were thinking of the absent son and brother.
"I wish Harry was here," said Jane, at length, giving voice to the general feeling.
"Poor boy," sighed his mother. "I'm afraid he'll have a hard time. I wish he had stayed at home, or even have gone to Squire Green's to work. Then we could have seen him every day."
"I should have pitied him more if he had gone there than I do now," said his father. "Depend upon it, it; will be better for him in the end."
"I hope so," said his mother, dubiously.
"But you don't feel sure? Well, time will show. We shall hear from him before long."
We go back to Harry.
He rested for a couple of hours, sheltered from the sun by the foliage of the oak beneath which he had stretched himself. He whiled away the time by reading for the second time some parts of the "Life of Franklin," which he had brought away in his bundle, with his few other possessions. It seemed even more interesting to him now that he, too, like Franklin, had started out in quest for fortune.
He resumed walking, but we will not dwell upon the details of his journey. At six o'clock he was twenty-five miles from home. He had not walked much in the afternoon when, all at once, he was alarmed by the darkening of the sky. It was evident that a storm was approaching. He looked about him for shelter from the shower, and a place where he could pass the night.