The Flag Part 18

"I will. And I thank you, sir; not only on my own account, but also in the name of the public of Chestnut Hill, and on behalf of our beloved country. Now I must go. I have decided, in returning, to drive across by Darbytown, strike the creek road, and go down home by that route in order to avoid drifts and bare places. Oh, by the way, there's a little matter I neglected to speak to Mr. Walker about. It's of no great moment, but I understand his grandson came up here this afternoon, and, if he is still here, I will take the opportunity to send back word by him."

He made the inquiry with as great an air of indifference as he could a.s.sume, but his breath came quick as he waited for an answer.

"Why," replied Henry Cobb, "Pen was here along about three o'clock. He was looking for a two-year old heifer that strayed away yesterday. He went over toward Darbytown. You might run across him if you're going that way. But I'll send your message down to Enos Walker if you wish."

"Thank you! It doesn't matter. I may possibly see the young man along the road. Good night!"

"Good night, colonel!"

The impatient horses were given rein once more, and dashed away to the music of the two score bells that hung from their s.h.i.+ning harness.

But, although Colonel Richard Butler scanned every inch of the way from Henry Cobb's to Darbytown, with anxious and longing eyes, he did not once catch sight of any farmer's boy searching for a two-year old heifer that had strayed from its home.

At dusk he stepped wearily from his sleigh and mounted the steps that led to the porch of Bannerhall. His daughter met him at the door.

"For goodness' sake, father!" she exclaimed; "where on earth have you been?"

"I have been to Cobb's Corners," was the quiet reply.

"Did you get Pen?" she asked, excitedly.

"I did not."

"Wouldn't Mr. Walker let him come?"

"I made no request of any one for my grandson's return. I went to obtain a spruce tree from Mr. Walker, out of which to make a flag-staff for the school grounds. I obtained it."

"That's a wonder."

"It is not a wonder, Millicent. Permit me to say, as one speaking from experience, that when accused of selfishness, Enos Walker has been grossly maligned. I have found him to be a public-spirited citizen, and a much better man, in all respects, than he has been painted."

His daughter made no further inquiries, for she saw that he was not in a mood to be questioned. But, from that day forth, the shadow of sorrow and of longing grew deeper on his care-furrowed face.

CHAPTER VIII

It was well along in April, that year, before the last of the winter's snow disappeared, and the robins and blue-birds darted in and out among the naked trees. But, as the sun grew high, and the days long, and the spring languor filled the air, Pen felt an ever-increasing dissatisfaction with his position in his grandfather Walker's household, and an ever-increasing desire to relinquish it. Not that he was afraid or ashamed to work; he had sufficiently demonstrated that he was not. Not that he ever expected to return to Bannerhall, for he had no such thought. To beg to be taken back was unthinkable; that he should be invited back was most improbable. He had not seen his grandfather Butler since he came away, nor had he heard from him, except for the vivid and oft-repeated recital by Grandpa Walker of the spruce tree episode, and save through his Aunt Millicent who made occasional visits to the family at Cobb's Corners. That he deplored Pen's departure there could be no doubt, but that he would either invite or compel him to return was beyond belief. So Pen's tasks had come to be very irksome to him, and his mode of life very dissatisfying. If he worked he wanted to work for himself, at a task in which he could take interest and pride. At Cobb's Corners he could see no future for himself worthy of the name. Many times he discussed the situation with his mother, and, painful as it would be to her to lose him, she agreed with him that he must go. He waited only the opportunity.

One day, late in April, Robert Starbird dropped in while the members of the Walker family were at dinner. He was a wool-buyer for the Starbird Woolen Company of Lowbridge, and a nephew of its president.

Having completed a bargain with Grandpa Walker for his scanty spring clipping of fleece, he turned to Pen.

"Haven't I seen you at Colonel Butler's, down at Chestnut Hill?" he inquired.

"Yes," replied Pen, "I'm his grandson. I used to live there."

"I thought so. Staying here now, are you?"

"Until I can get regular work; yes, sir."

"Want a job, do you?"

"I'd like one, very much."

"Well, we'll need a bobbin-boy at the mills pretty soon. I suppose--"

And then Grandpa Walker interrupted.

"I guess," he said, "'t we can keep the young man busy here for a while yet."

Robert Starbird looked curiously for a moment, from man to boy, and then, saying that he must go on up to Henry Cobb's to make a deal with him for his fleece, he went out to his buggy, got in and drove away.

Pen went back to his work in the field with a sinking heart. It had not before occurred to him that Grandpa Walker would object to his leaving him whenever he should find satisfactory and profitable employment elsewhere. But it was now evident that, if he went, he must go against his grandfather's will. His first opportunity had already been blocked. What opposition he would meet with in the future he could only conjecture.

With Old Charlie hitched to a stone-boat, he was drawing stones from a neighbor's field to the roadside, where men were engaged in laying up a stone wall. He had not been long at work since the dinner hour, when, chancing to look up, he saw Robert Starbird driving down the hill from Henry Cobb's on his way back to Chestnut Hill. A sudden impulse seized him. He threw the reins across Old Charlie's back, left him standing willingly in his tracks, and started on a run across the lot to head off Robert Starbird at the roadside. The man saw him coming and stopped his horse.

Panting a little, both from exertion and excitement, Pen leaped the fence and came up to the side of the buggy.

"Mr. Starbird," he said, "if that job is still open, I--I think I'll take it--if you'll give it to me."

The man, looking at him closely, saw determination stamped on his countenance.

"Why, that's all right," he said. "You could have the job; but what about your grandfather Walker? He doesn't seem to want you to leave."

"I know. But my mother's willing. And I'll make it up to Grandpa Walker some way. I can't stay here, Mr. Starbird; and--I'm not going to. They're good enough to me here. I've no complaint to make. But--I want a real job and a fair chance."

He paused, out of breath. The intensity of his desire, and the fixedness of his purpose were so sharply manifest that the man in the wagon did not, for the moment, reply. He placed his whip slowly in its socket, and seemed lost in thought. At last he said:

"Henry Cobb has been telling me about you. He gives you a very good name."

He paused a moment and then added:

"I'll tell you what I'll do. If you'll give the old gentleman fair notice--and not sneak away from him like a vagabond--I won't harbor any runaways--why, I'll see that you get the job."

Pen drew a long breath, and his face lighted up with pleasure.

"Thank you, Mr. Starbird!" he exclaimed. "Thank you very much. When may I come?"

"Well, let's see. To-day's Wednesday. Suppose you report for duty next Monday."

"All right! I'll be there. I'll leave here Monday morning. I'll speak to Grandpa Walker to-night."

"Very well. See you Monday. Good-by!"

"Good-by!"

Robert Starbird chirruped to his horse, started on, and was soon lost to sight around a bend in the road.