Now I’m goin’ to earn wages, I ought to know about addin’ ’em up, and so on,” said Ben, with the air of a Vanderbilt oppressed with the care of millions.

“I’ll teach you that. Betty doesn’t know much about sums. But she spells splendidly, and is always at the head of her class. Teacher is real proud of her, ‘cause she never misses, and spells hard, fussy words, like chi-rog-ra-phy and bron-chi-tis as easy as anything.”

Bab quite beamed with sisterly pride, and Betty smoothed down her apron with modest satisfaction, for Bab seldom praised her, and she liked it very much.

“I never went to school, so that’s the reason I ain’t smart. I can write, though, better ‘n some of the boys up at school. I saw lots of names on the shed door. See here, now”— and scrambling down, Ben pulled out a cherished bit of chalk, and flourished off ten letters of the alphabet, one on each of the dark stone slabs that paved the walk.

“Those are beautiful! I can’t make such curly ones. Who taught you to do it?” asked Bab, as she and Betty walked up and down admiring them.

“Horse blankets,” answered Ben, soberly.

“What!” cried both girls, stopping to stare.

“Our horses all had their names on their blankets, and I used to copy ’em. The wagons had signs, and I learned to read that way after father taught me my letters off the red and yellow posters. First word I knew was lion, ‘cause I was always goin’ to see old Jubal in his cage. Father was real proud when I read it right off. I can draw one, too.”

Ben proceeded to depict an animal intended to represent his lost friend; but Jubal would not have recognized his portrait, since it looked much more like Sancho than the king of the forest. The children admired it immensely, however, and Ben gave them a lesson in natural history which was so interesting that it kept them busy and happy till bedtime; for the boy described what he had seen in such lively language, and illustrated in such a droll way, it was no wonder they were charmed.

New Friends Trot In

CHAPTER 7

Next day Ben ran off to his work with Quackenbos’s “Elementary History of the United States” in his pocket, and the Squire’s cows had ample time to breakfast on wayside grass before they were put into their pasture. Even then the pleasant lesson was not ended, for Ben had an errand to town; and all the way he read busily, tumbling over the hard words, and leaving bits which he did not understand to be explained at night by Bab.

At “The First Settlements” he had to stop, for the school-house was reached, and the book must be returned. The maple-tree closet was easily found, and a little surprise hidden under the flat stone; for Ben paid two sticks of red and white candy for the privilege of taking books from the new library.

When recess came, great was the rejoicing of the children over their unexpected treat, for Mrs. Moss had few pennies to spare for sweets, and, somehow, this candy tasted particularly nice, bought out of grateful Ben’s solitary dime. The little girls shared their goodies with their favorite mates, but said nothing about the new arrangement, fearing it would be spoilt if generally known. They told their mother, however, and she gave them leave to lend their books and encourage Ben to love learning all they could. She also proposed that they should drop patchwork, and help her make some blue shirts for Ben. Mrs. Barton had given her the materials, and she thought it would be an excellent lesson in needlework as well as a useful gift to Ben — who, boylike, never troubled himself as to what he should wear when his one suit of clothes gave out.

Wednesday afternoon was the sewing time; so the two little B’s worked busily at a pair of shirtsleeves, sitting on their bench in the doorway, while the rusty needles creaked in and out, and the childish voices sang school songs, with frequent stoppages for lively chatter.

For a week, Ben worked away bravely, and never shirked nor complained, although Pat put many a hard or disagreeable job upon him, and chores grew more and more distasteful. His only comfort was the knowledge that Mrs. Moss and the Squire were satisfied with him; his only pleasure the lessons he learned while driving the cows, and recited in the evening when the three children met under the lilacs to “play school.”

He had no thought of studying when he began, and hardly knew that he was doing it as he pored over the different books he took from the library. But the little girls tried him with all they possessed, and he was mortified to find how ignorant he was. He never owned it in words, but gladly accepted all the bits of knowledge they offered from their small store; getting Betty to hear him spell “just for fun”; agreeing to draw Bab all the bears and tigers she wanted if she would show him how to do sums on the flags, and often beguiled his lonely labors by trying to chant the multiplication table as they did. When Tuesday night came round, the Squire paid him a dollar, said he was “a likely boy,” and might stay another week if he chose. Ben thanked him and thought he would; but the next morning, after he had put up the bars, he remained sitting on the top rail to consider his prospects, for he felt uncommonly reluctant to go back to the society of rough Pat. Like most boys, he hated work, unless it was of a sort which just suited him; then he could toil like a beaver and never tire. His wandering life had given him no habits of steady industry; and, while he was an unusually capable lad of his age, he dearly loved to “loaf” about and have a good deal of variety and excitement in his life.

Now he saw nothing before him but days of patient and very uninteresting labor. He was heartily sick of weeding; even riding Duke before the cultivator had lost its charms, and a great pile of wood lay in the Squire’s yard, which he knew he would be set to piling up in the shed. Strawberry-picking would soon follow the asparagus cultivation; then haying; and so on all the long bright summer, without any fun, unless his father came for him.

On the other hand, he was not obliged to stay a minute longer unless he liked. With a comfortable suit of clothes, a dollar in his pocket, and a row of dinner baskets hanging in the schoolhouse entry to supply him with provisions if he didn’t mind stealing them, what was easier than to run away again? Tramping has its charms in fair weather, and Ben had lived like a gypsy under canvas for years; so he feared nothing, and began to look down the leafy road with a restless, wistful expression, as the temptation grew stronger and stronger every minute.

Sancho seemed to share the longing, for he kept running off a little way and stopping to frisk and bark; then rushed back to sit watching his master with those intelligent eyes of his, which seemed to say, “Come on, Ben, let us scamper down this pleasant road and never stop till we are tired.” Swallows darted by, white clouds fled before the balmy west wind, a squirrel ran along the wall, and all things seemed to echo the boy’s desire to leave toil behind and roam away as carefree as they.