CHAPTER III
MAKING HIS START IN THE WORLD
The sun was just setting as Phil Forrest strode out of the yard.Once outside of the gate he paused, glancing irresolutely up anddown the street. Which way to turn or where to go he did notknow. He had not thought before of what he should do.
Phil heard the clatter of Abner Adams' stick as the old manthumped about in the kitchen.
Suddenly the door was jerked open with unusual violence.
"Begone!" bellowed Mr. Adams, brandishing his cane threateningly.
Phil turned down the street, without casting so much as a glancein the direction of his wrathful uncle, and continued on towardthe open country. To anyone who had observed him there wasnothing of uncertainty in the lad's walk as he swung along. As amatter of fact, Phil had not the slightest idea where he wasgoing. He knew only that he wanted to get away by himself.
On the outskirts of the village men had been at work that day,cutting and piling up hay. The field was dotted with heaps ofthe fragrant, freshly garnered stuff.
Phil hesitated, glanced across the field, and, noting that themen had all gone home for the day, climbed the fence. He walkedon through the field until he had reached the opposite side ofit. Then the lad placed his bag on the ground and sat down on apile of hay.
With head in hands, he tried to think, to plan, but somehow hismind seemed unable to perform its proper functions. It simplywould not work.
"Not much of a start in the world, this," grinned Phil, shiftinghis position so as to command a better view of the world, for hedid not want anyone to see him. "I suppose Uncle Abner isgetting supper now. But where am I going to get mine? I hadn'tthought of that before. It looks very much as if I should haveto go without. But I don't care. Perhaps it will do me good tomiss a meal," decided the boy sarcastically. "I've been eatingtoo much lately, anyhow."
Twilight came; then the shadows of night slowly settled over thelandscape, while the lad lay stretched out on the sweet-smellinghay, hands supporting his head, gazing up into the starlit sky.
Slowly his heavy eyelids fluttered and closed, and Phil wasasleep. The night was warm and he experienced no discomfort. Hewas a strong, healthy boy, so that sleeping out of doors was nohardship to him. All through the night he slept as soundly as ifhe had been in his own bed at home. Nor did he awaken until thebright sunlight of the morning finally burned his eyelids apart.
Phil started up rubbing his eyes.
At first he wondered where he was. But the sight of his baglying a little to one side brought back with a rush the memory ofwhat had happened to him the evening before.
"Why, it's morning," marveled the lad, blinking in the strongsunlight. "And I've slept on this pile of hay all night. It'sthe first time I ever slept out of doors, and I never sleptbetter in my life. Guess I'll fix myself up a little."
Phil remembered that a little trout stream cut across the fieldoff to the right. Taking up his bag, he started for the stream,where he made his toilet as best he could, finishing up by lyingflat on his stomach, taking a long, satisfying drink of thesparkling water.
"Ah, that feels better," he breathed, rolling over on the bank.After a little he helped himself to another drink. "But I've gotto do something. I can't stay out here in this field all therest of my life. And if I don't find something to eat I'llstarve to death. I'll go downtown and see if I can't earn mybreakfast somehow."
Having formed this resolution, Phil took up his belongings andstarted away toward the village. His course led him right pastAbner Adams' house, but, fortunately, Mr. Adams was not in sight.Phil would have felt a keen humiliation had he been forced tomeet the taunts of his uncle. He hurried on past the housewithout glancing toward it.
He had gone on for some little way when he was halted by afamiliar voice.
"Hello, Phil! Where are you going in such a hurry and so earlyin 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 thelad.
"If you are not in such a great hurry, stop a bit," urged thewoman, her keen eyes noting certain things that she did not givevoice to. She had known Phil Forrest for many years, and hisparents before him. Furthermore, she knew something of the lifehe had led since the death of his parents. "Had your breakfast?"
"Well--"
"Of course you haven't. Come right in and eat with me," urgedthe good-hearted widow.
"If you will let me do some chores, or something to pay for it, Iwill," agreed Phil hesitatingly.
"Nothing of the kind! You'll keep me company at breakfast; thenyou'll be telling me all about it."
"About what?"
" 'Bout your going away," pointing significantly to the bag thatPhil was carrying.
He was ravenously hungry, though he did not realize it fullyuntil 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 hadfinished the meal.
Phil did so. He opened his heart to the woman who had known hismother, while she listened in sympathetic silence, now and thenuttering an exclamation of angry disapproval when his uncle'swords 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 thebest thing that could have happened to me. I've got to start outfor myself sometime, you know. I'm glad of one thing, and thatis that I didn't have to go until school closed. I get throughthe 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. Iwant to earn enough money this summer so that I can go to schoolagain in the fall."
"And you shall. You shall stay right here with the Widow Cahilluntil you've got through with your schooling, my lad."
"I couldn't think of that. No; I am not going to be a burden toanyone. Don't you see how I feel--that I want to earn my ownliving now?"
She nodded understandingly.
"You can do some chores and--"
"I'll stay here until I find something else to do," agreed Philslowly. "I shan't be able to look about much today, because I'llbe 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 exerciseyour 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, asshe did, that the obligation he felt for her kindness was toogreat to be lightly treated.
Phil got at his task at once, and in a few moments she heard himwhistling an accompaniment to the steady thud, thud of the axe ashe 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 hadpassed. Mrs. Cahill went out, begging that he come in and rest.
"Rest? Why, haven't I been resting all night? I feel as if Icould chop down the house and work it up into kindling wood, allbefore school time. What time is it?"
"Nigh on to seven o'clock. I've wanted to ask you something eversince you told me you had left Abner Adams. It's rather apersonal 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 Iwas going to leave him?"
"Did you ever hear him say that your mother had left a littlemoney with him before she died--money that was to be used foryo
ur education as long as it lasted?"
Phil straightened up slowly, his axe falling to the ground, anexpression 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 saidanything 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 oldAbner Adams a lecture that he wouldn't forget as long as helives."
Phil smiled indulgently.
"He's an old man, Mrs. Cahill. He's all crippled up withrheumatism, and maybe he's got a right to be cranky--"
"And to turn his own sister's child outdoors, eh? Not by a longshot. Rheumatics don't give anybody any call to do any such athing as that. He ought to have his nose twisted, and it's me, agood church member, as says so."
The lad picked up his axe and resumed his occupation, while Mrs.Cahill turned up a chunk of wood and sat down on it, keeping up arunning fire of comment, mostly directed at Abner Adams, andwhich must have made his ears burn.
Shortly after eight o'clock Phil gathered his books, strappedthem and announced that he would be off for school.
"I'll finish the woodpile after school," he called back, as hewas leaving the gate.
"You'll do nothing of the sort," retorted the Widow Cahill.
Darting out of the yard, Phil ran plump into someone, and haltedsharply with an earnest apology.
"Seems to me you're in a terrible rush about something. Where yougoing?"
"Hello, Teddy, that you?"
"It's me," answered Teddy ungrammatically.
"I'm on my way to school."
"Never could understand why anybody should want to run when he'sgoing to school. Now, I always run when I start off afterschool's out. What you doing here?" demanded the boy, drawinghis eyelids down into a squint.
"I've been chopping some wood for Mrs. Cahill."
"Huh! What's the matter with the bear this morning?"
"The bear?"
Teddy jerked a significant thumb in the direction of Phil'sformer home.
"Bear's got a grouch on a rod wide this morning."
"Oh, you mean Uncle Abner," answered Phil, his face clouding.
"Yep."
"Why?"
"I just dropped in to see if you were ready to go to school. Heyelled at me like he'd gone crazy."
"That all?" grinned the other boy.
"No. He chased me down the road till his game knee gave out;then he fell down."
Phil could not repress a broad grin at this news.
"Good thing for me that I could run. He'd have given me awalloping for sure if he'd caught me. I'll bet that stick hurtswhen it comes down on a fellow. Don't it, Phil?"
"I should think it would. I have never felt it, but I have hadsome pretty narrow escapes. What did the folks you are livingwith say when you got home all mud last night?"
Teddy grinned a sheepish sort of grin.
"Told me I'd better go out in the horse barn--said my particularstyle of beauty was better suited to the stable than to thekitchen."
"Did you?"
"Well, no, not so as you might notice it. I went down to thecreek and went in swimming, clothes and all. That was theeasiest way. You see, I could wash the mud off my clothes andmyself all at the same time."
"It's a wonder they let you in at all, then."
"They didn't; at least not until I had wrung the water out of mytrousers and twisted my hair up into a regular top-knot. Then Icrawled in behind the kitchen stove and got dried out after awhile. But I got my supper. I always do."
"Yes; I never knew you to go without meals."
"Sorry you ain't going to the circus tomorrow, Phil."
"I am. Teddy, I'm free. I can do as I like now. Yes, I'll goto the circus with you, and maybe if I can earn some moneytonight I'll treat you to red lemonade and peanuts."
"Hooray!" shouted Teddy, tossing his hat high in the air.