Wednesday afternoon was the sewing time, so the two little B’s worked busily at a pair of shirt sleeves, sitting on their bench in the door-way, while the rusty needles creaked in and out, and the childish voices sung school-songs, with frequent stoppages for lively chatter.

For a week, Ben worked away bravely, and never shirked nor complained, although Pat put many a hard or disagreeable job upon him, and chores grew more and more distasteful.  His only comfort was the knowledge that Mrs. Moss and the Squire were satisfied with him, his only pleasure the lessons he learned while driving the cows, and recited in the evening when the three children met under the lilacs to “play school.”

He had no thought of studying when he began, and hardly knew that he was doing it as he pored over the different books he took from the library.  But the little girls tried him with all they possessed, and he was mortified to find how ignorant he was.  He never owned it in words, but gladly accepted all the bits of knowledge they offered from their small store; getting Betty to hear him spell “just for fun;” agreeing to draw Bab all the bears and tigers she wanted if she would show him how to do sums on the flags, and often beguiled his lonely labors by trying to chant the multiplication table as they did.  When Tuesday night came round the Squire paid him a dollar, said he was “a likely boy,” and might stay another week if he chose.  Ben thanked him and thought he would, but the next morning, after he had put up the bars, he remained sitting on the top rail to consider his prospects, for he felt uncommonly reluctant to go back to the society of rough Pat.  Like most boys he hated work, unless it was of a sort which just suited him; then he could toil like a beaver and never tire.  His wandering life had given him no habits of steady industry, and while he was an unusually capable lad of his age, he dearly loved to loaf about and have a good deal of variety and excitement in his life.

Now he saw nothing before him but days of patient and very uninteresting labor.  He was heartily sick of weeding; even riding Duke before the cultivator had lost its charms, and a great pile of wood lay in the Squire’s yard which he knew he would be set to piling up in the shed.  Strawberry-picking would soon follow the asparagus cultivation, then haying, and so on all the long, bright summer, without any fun, unless his father came for him.

On the other hand, he was not obliged to stay a minute longer unless he liked.  With a comfortable suit of clothes, a dollar in his pocket, and a row of dinner-baskets hanging in the school-house entry to supply him with provisions if he didn’t mind stealing them, what was easier than to run away again?  Tramping has its charms in fair weather, and Ben had lived like a gypsy under canvas for years, so he feared nothing, and began to look down the leafy road with a restless, wistful expression, as the temptation grew stronger and stronger every minute.