The Circus Boys On The Flying Rings | Page 9

He hurried on past the house without glancing toward it.
He had gone on for some little way when he was halted by a familiar voice.
"Hello, Phil! Where are you going in such a hurry and so early in the morning?"
Phil started guiltily and looked up quickly at the speaker.
"Good morning, Mrs. Cahill. What time is it?"
"It's just past four o'clock in the morning."
"Gracious! I had no idea it was so early as that," exclaimed the lad.
"If you are not in such a great hurry, stop a bit," urged the woman, her keen eyes noting certain things that she did not give voice to. She had known Phil Forrest for many years, and his parents before him. Furthermore, she knew something of the life he had led since the death of his parents. "Had your breakfast?"
"Well--"
"Of course you haven't. Come right in and eat with me," urged the good-hearted widow.
"If you will let me do some chores, or something to pay for it, I will," agreed Phil hesitatingly.
"Nothing of the kind! You'll keep me company at breakfast; then you'll be telling me all about it."
"About what?"
" 'Bout your going away," pointing significantly to the bag that Phil was carrying.
He was ravenously hungry, though he did not realize it fully until the odor of the widow's savory cooking smote his nostrils.
She watched him eat with keen satisfaction.
"Now tell me what's happened," urged Mrs. Cahill, after he had finished the meal.
Phil did so. He opened his heart to the woman who had known his mother, while she listened in sympathetic silence, now and then uttering an exclamation of angry disapproval when his uncle's words were repeated to her.
"And you're turned out of house and home? Is that it, my boy?"
"Well, yes, that's about it," grinned Phil.
"It's a shame."
"I'm not complaining, you know, Mrs. Cahill. Perhaps it's the best thing that could have happened to me. I've got to start out for myself sometime, you know. I'm glad of one thing, and that is that I didn't have to go until school closed. I get through the term today, you know?"
"And you're going to school today?"
"Oh, yes. I wouldn't want to miss the last day."
"Then what?"
"I don't know. I shall find something else to do, I guess. I want to earn enough money this summer so that I can go to school again in the fall."
"And you shall. You shall stay right here with the Widow Cahill until you've got through with your schooling, my lad."
"I couldn't think of that. No; I am not going to be a burden to anyone. Don't you see how I feel--that I want to earn my own living now?"
She nodded understandingly.
"You can do some chores and--"
"I'll stay here until I find something else to do," agreed Phil slowly. "I shan't be able to look about much today, because I'll be too busy at school; but tomorrow I'll begin hunting for a job. What can I do for you this morning?"
"Well, you might chop some wood if you are aching to exercise your muscles," answered the widow, with a twinkle in her eyes. She knew that there was plenty of wood stored in the woodhouse, but she was too shrewd an observer to tell Phil so, realizing, as she did, that the obligation he felt for her kindness was too great to be lightly treated.
Phil got at his task at once, and in a few moments she heard him whistling an accompaniment to the steady thud, thud of the axe as he swung it with strong, resolute arms.
"He's a fine boy," was the Widow Cahill's muttered conclusion.
Phil continued at his work without intermission until an hour had passed. Mrs. Cahill went out, begging that he come in and rest.
"Rest? Why, haven't I been resting all night? I feel as if I could chop down the house and work it up into kindling wood, all before school time. What time is it?"
"Nigh on to seven o'clock. I've wanted to ask you something ever since you told me you had left Abner Adams. It's rather a personal question."
The lad nodded.
"Did your uncle send you away without any money?"
"Of course. Why should he have given me anything so long as I was going to leave him?"
"Did you ever hear him say that your mother had left a little money with him before she died--money that was to be used for your education as long as it lasted?"
Phil straightened up slowly, his axe falling to the ground, an expression of surprise appeared in his eyes.
"My mother left money--for me, you say?" he wondered.
"No, Phil, I haven't said so. I asked you if Abner had ever said anything of the sort?"
"No. Do you think she did?"
"I'm not saying what I think. I wish I was a man; I'd read old Abner Adams a lecture