e free to think as you like; but
this I say: I'll not stand by and see you spit upon! 'Covered with as
much as it'll bear!' THAT'S a piece o' luck anyhow. If we're poor, your
wife must take your poverty with you, or she don't come into MY doors.
But first of all you must make your journey!"

"My journey!" repeated Jacob.

"Weren't you thinking of it this night, before you took your seat on
that stump? A little more, and you'd have gone clean off, I reckon."

Jacob was silent, and hung his head.

"Never mind! I've no right to think hard of it. In a week we'll have
finished our haying, and then it's a fortnight to wheat; but, for that
matter, Harry and I can manage the wheat by ourselves. You may take a
month, two months, if any thing comes of it. Under a month I don't mean
that you shall come back. I'll give you twenty dollars for a start; if
you want more you must earn it on the road, any way you please. And,
mark you, Jacob! since you ARE poor, don't let anybody suppose you are
rich. For my part, I shall not expect you to buy Whitney's place; all I
ask is that you'll tell me, fair and square, just what things and what
people you've got acquainted with. Get to bed now--the matter's settled;
I will have it so."

They rose and walked across the meadow to the house. Jacob had quite
forgotten the events of the evening in the new prospect suddenly opened
to him, which filled him with a wonderful confusion of fear and desire.
His father said nothing more. They entered the lonely house together at
midnight, and went to their beds; but Jacob slept very little.

Six days afterwards he left home, on a sparkling June morning, with
a small bundle tied in a yellow silk handkerchief under his arm. His
father had furnished him with the promised money, but had positively
refused to tell him what road he should take, or what plan of action he
should adopt. The only stipulation was that his absence from home should
not be less than a month.

After he had passed the wood and reached the highway which followed
the course of the brook, he paused to consider which course to take.
Southward the road led past Pardon's, and he longed to see his only
friends once more before encountering untried hazards; but the village
was beyond, and he had no courage to walk through its one long street
with a bundle, denoting a journey, under his arm. Northward he would
have to pass the mill and blacksmith's shop at the cross-roads. Then he
remembered