our
rank!' Many a story-book tells o' such doings, an' what's in them
ought to be true. Good for 't I can buy 'em cheap. The Bishop caught
me reading one once and preached me a reg'lar sermon about it. Said
that such kind of literatoor had ruined many a simple fellow and would
me if I kep' on. But even Bishops don't know everything, though I
allow he's a grand old man. I kind of sorter hate to leave Oak Knowe
on his account, he takes such an int'rest in me. But he'll get over
it. He'll have to, for we're going, Baal an' me, out of this house
where we're wastin' our sweetness on the desert air. My jiminy
cricket! If a boy that can paint pictures and recite poetry like I
can, can't rise above shoe-cleanin' and get on in this world--I'd like
to know the reason why! Come, Baal! I'll strap my clothes in a bundle,
shake the dust of old Oak Knowe offen me, and hie away to seek my
fortune--and your'n."

Nobody interfering, Jack proceeded to put this plan into action; but
it was curious that, as he reached the limits of Oak Knowe grounds, he
turned and looked back on the big, many-windowed house, and at the
throngs of happy girls who were at "recreation" on the well-kept
lawns. A sort of sob rose in his throat and there was a strange
sinking in his stomach that made him most uncomfortable. He couldn't
tell that this was "homesickness," and he tried to forget it in
bitterness against those whom he was deserting.

"They don't care, none of 'em! Not a single mite does anyone of them
'ristocratics care what becomes of--of poor Jack, the boot-boy! Come
on, Baal! If we don't start our seekin' pretty quick--Why jiminy
cricket I shall be snivellin'!"

Saying this, the self-exiled lad gripped the goat's leading strap and
set out at a furious pace down the long road toward the distant city.
He had a dime novel in one pocket, an English sixpence in another--And
what was this?

"My soul! If there ain't the key to that old door they broke in to see
what was racketing round so! I wonder if I ought to take it back?
Baal, what say? That cubby of our'n wasn't so bad. You know, Baal, I
wouldn't like to be a thief--not a reg'lar thief that'd steal a key.
Course I wouldn't. Anyhow, I've left, I've quit. I'm seekin' my
fortune--understand? Whew! The wind's risin'. I allow there's going to
be a storm. I wish--Old Dawkins used to say: 'Better take two thoughts
to a thing!' an' maybe, maybe, if I'd ha' waited a spell afore--I mean
I wouldn't ha'