ee from where
he worked the big stone house, bare and gray. It was a place to eat in,
a place to sleep in, the same as a prison. He had never known any real
enjoyment there. He knew it would all be his some day, and he tried to
feel the pride of possession, but he could not--he hated it.

He saw around him everywhere the abundance of harvest--the grain that
meant money. Money! It was the greatest thing in the world. He had been
taught to chase after it--to grasp it--then hide it, and chase again
after more. His father put money in the bank every year, and never saw
it again. When money was banked it had fulfilled its highest mission.
Then they drew that wonderful thing called interest, money without
work--and banked it--Oh, it was a great game!

It was the first glimmerings of manhood that was stirring in Tom's
heart that morning, the new independence, the new individualism.

Before this he had accepted everything his father and mother had said
or done without question. Only once before had he doubted them. It was
several years before. A man named Skinner had bought from Tom's father
the quarter section that Jim Russell now farmed, paying down a
considerable sum of money, but evil days fell upon the man and his
wife; sickness, discouragement, and then, the man began to drink. He
was unable to keep up his payments and Tom's father had foreclosed the
mortgage. Tom remembered the day the Skinners had left their farm, the
woman was packing their goods into a box. She was a faded woman in a
faded wrapper, and her tears were falling as she worked. Tom saw her
tears falling, and he had told her with the awful cruelty of a child
that it was their own fault that they had lost the farm. The woman had
shrunk back as if he had struck her and cried "Oh, no! No! Tom, don't
say that, child, you don't know what you say," then putting her hands
on his shoulders she had looked straight into his face--he remembered
that she had lost some teeth in front, and that her eyes were sweet and
kind. "Some day, dear," she said, "when you are a man, you will
remember with shame and sorrow that you once spoke hard to a
broken-hearted, homeless woman." Tom had gone home wondering and
vaguely unhappy, and could not eat his supper that night.

He remembered it all now, remembered it with a start, and with a sudden
tightening of his heart that burned and chilled him. The hot blood
rushed into his head and throbbed painfully.

He looked at the young