Samuel the Seeker | Page 5

but he realized that there was nothing to be gained by saying so.
Samuel did not care much about the loss of his share of the money; but he did care about the grief of his father, which was terrible to see. The blow really killed him; he looked ten years older after that week and he failed all through the winter. And then late in the spring he caught a cold, and took to his bed; and it turned to pneumonia, and almost before anyone had had time to realize it, he was gone.
He went to join Samuel's mother. He had whispered this as he clutched the boy's hand; and Samuel knew that it was true, and that therefore there was no occasion for grief. So he was ashamed for the awful waves of loneliness and terror which swept over him; and he gulped back his feelings and forced himself to wear a cheerful demeanor--much too cheerful for the taste of Adam and Dan, who were more concerned with what their neighbors would think than they were with the subtleties of Samuel's faith.
The boy had been doing a great deal of thinking that winter; and after the funeral he called a council of the family.
"Brothers," he said, "this farm is too small for three men. Dan wants to marry already; and we can't live here always. It's just as Manning said--"
"I don't want to hear what that skunk said!" growled Adam.
"Well, he was right that time. People stay on the land and they divide it up and get poorer and poorer. So I've made up my mind to break away. I'm going to the city and get a start."
"What can you do in the city?" asked Dan.
"I don't know," said Samuel. "I'll do my best. I don't expect to go to Wall Street and make my fortune."
"You needn't be smart!" growled Dan.
But the other was quite innocent of sarcasm. "What I mean is that I'll have to work," said he. "I'm young and strong, and I'm not afraid to try. I'll find somebody to give me a chance; and then I'll work hard and learn and I'll get promoted. I've read of boys that have done that."
"It's not a bad idea," commented Adam.
"Go ahead," said Dan.
"The only thing is," began Samuel, hesitatingly, "I shall have to have a little money for a start."
"Humph!" said Adam. "Money's a scarce thing here."
"How much'll ye want?" asked the other.
"Well," said the boy, "I want enough to feel safe. For if I go, I promise you I shall stay till I succeed. I shan't play the baby."
"How do you expect to raise it?" was the next question.
"I thought," replied Samuel, "that we might make some kind of a deal-- let me sell out my share in the farm."
"You can't sell your share," said Adam, sharply. "You ain't of age."
"Maybe I'm not," was the answer; "but all the same you know me. And if I was to make a bargain I'd keep it. You may be sure I'll never come back and bother you."
"Yes, I suppose not," said Adam, doubtfully. "But you can't tell--"
"How much do you expect to git?" asked Dan warily.
"Well, I thought maybe I could get a hundred dollars," said the other and then he stopped, hesitating.
Adam and Dan exchanged a quick glance.
"Money's mighty scarce hereabouts," said Adam.
"Still," said Dan, "I don't know, I'll go to the village tomorrow and see what I can do."
So Dan drove away and came back in the evening and there was another council; he produced eight new ten-dollar bills.
"It was the best I could do," he said. "I'm sorry if it ain't enough"- -and then he stopped.
"I'll make that do," said Samuel.
And so his brother produced a long and imposing-looking document; Samuel was too polite to read it but signed at once, and so the bargain was closed. And that night Samuel packed his few belongings in a neat newspaper bundle and before sunrise the next morning he set out upon his search.
CHAPTER III
He had his bundle slung over his back and his eighty dollars pinned tightly in an inside pocket. Underneath it his heart beat fast and high; he was young and he was free--the open road stretched out before him, and perpetual adventure beckoned to him. Every pilgrimage that he had ever read of helped to make up the thrill that stirred him, as he stood on the ridge and gazed at the old farmhouse, and waved his hand, and turned and began his journey.
The horse was needed for the plowing, and so Samuel walked the six miles to the village, and from there the mail stage took him out to the solitary railroad station. He had three hours to wait here for the train, and so he decided that he would save fifteen