Part 10 (2/2)
”He didn't say he was tired--”
”Then he did say he was tired of working evenings.”
”That's different.”
”Yes, it's different, Martin; but can you make him work?”
”No, I don't intend to try. He isn't my slave.”
With overwhelming pride in her eyes, pride that shook her voice, she exclaimed: ”Not anybody's slave, and not afraid to declare it. Billy is a different kind of a boy. He doesn't like the farm--he hates it--”
”I know.”
”He loathes everything about it. Only the other day he told me he wished he could take it and tear it board from board, and leave it just a piece of bleak prairie, as it was when your father brought you here, Martin.”
”You actually mean he said he would tear down what took so many years of work to build? This farm that gives him a home and clothes and feeds him?”
”He did, Martin. And he meant it--there was hatred burning in his eyes.
There's that in his heart which can tear and rend; and there's that which can build. Oh, my unhappy Billy, my boy!”
”Don't get hysterical. What do you want me to do? Have I said he must work?”
”No, but you have tried to rub it into his soul and it just can't be done. You're not to be blamed for being what you are, nor is Billy--I'll milk his cows.”
”I'm not asking that.”
”But I will, Martin.”
”And let him stand by and watch you?”
”Put it that way if you will. Billy must get away from here. I see that now.”
”I haven't suggested it.”
”But I do. I want him to be happy. We'll let him board in Fallon the rest of the year. The b.u.t.ter and egg money will be enough to carry him through. It won't cost much. If we don't send him, he'll run away. I know him. He's my boy, and your son, Martin. I won't see him suffer in a strange world, learning his lessons from bitter experiences. I want him to be taken care of.”
”Very well, have it as you say. I'm not putting anything in the way. I thought this was his home, but I see it isn't. It isn't a prison. He can go, and good luck go with him.” And after a long silence: ”He would tear down this farm--the best in the county! Tear it down--board from board!”
IX. MARTIN'S SON SHAKES OFF THE DUST
THE very next day, Mrs. Wade rented a room for Bill in the same home in which Rose boarded, and for the rest of the winter she and Martin went on as before--working as hard as ever and making money even faster, while peace settled over their household, a peace so profound that, in her more intuitive moments, Bill's mother felt in it an ominous quality.
The storm broke with the summer vacation and the boy's point-blank refusal to return to farm work. His father laid down an ultimatum: until he came home he should not have a cent even from his mother, and home he should not come, at all, until he was willing to carry his share of the farm work willingly, and without further argument. ”You see,” he pointed out to his wife, ”that's the thanks I get for managing along without him this winter. The ungrateful young rascal! If he doesn't come to his senses shortly--”
”Oh, Martin, don't do anything rash,” implored Mrs. Wade. ”Nearly all boys go through this period. Just be patient with him.”
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