w deeper on his care-furrowed face.

CHAPTER VIII

It was well along in April, that year, before the last of the winter's
snow disappeared, and the robins and blue-birds darted in and out
among the naked trees. But, as the sun grew high, and the days long,
and the spring languor filled the air, Pen felt an ever-increasing
dissatisfaction with his position in his grandfather Walker's
household, and an ever-increasing desire to relinquish it. Not that he
was afraid or ashamed to work; he had sufficiently demonstrated that
he was not. Not that he ever expected to return to Bannerhall, for he
had no such thought. To beg to be taken back was unthinkable; that he
should be invited back was most improbable. He had not seen his
grandfather Butler since he came away, nor had he heard from him,
except for the vivid and oft-repeated recital by Grandpa Walker of the
spruce tree episode, and save through his Aunt Millicent who made
occasional visits to the family at Cobb's Corners. That he deplored
Pen's departure there could be no doubt, but that he would either
invite or compel him to return was beyond belief. So Pen's tasks had
come to be very irksome to him, and his mode of life very
dissatisfying. If he worked he wanted to work for himself, at a task
in which he could take interest and pride. At Cobb's Corners he could
see no future for himself worthy of the name. Many times he discussed
the situation with his mother, and, painful as it would be to her to
lose him, she agreed with him that he must go. He waited only the
opportunity.

One day, late in April, Robert Starbird dropped in while the members
of the Walker family were at dinner. He was a wool-buyer for the
Starbird Woolen Company of Lowbridge, and a nephew of its president.
Having completed a bargain with Grandpa Walker for his scanty spring
clipping of fleece, he turned to Pen.

"Haven't I seen you at Colonel Butler's, down at Chestnut Hill?" he
inquired.

"Yes," replied Pen, "I'm his grandson. I used to live there."

"I thought so. Staying here now, are you?"

"Until I can get regular work; yes, sir."

"Want a job, do you?"

"I'd like one, very much."

"Well, we'll need a bobbin-boy at the mills pretty soon. I suppose--"

And then Grandpa Walker interrupted.

"I guess," he said, "'t we can keep the young man busy here for a
while yet."

Robert Starbird looked curiously for a moment, from man to boy, and
then, saying that he must go on up to