“He laughed when I said that,” Tim continued, “and he said he guessed there was no sense in using figures of speech to me, but he was willing to bet that some time I would come to his way of thinking.  I told him that perhaps I would when I had seen as much of men and things as he had; but now I looked about me with the mind and the eye of a yokel.  That was just what I wanted to escape.  He was himself talking to me from a vantage-point of superior knowledge, and the consciousness of my own inferiority was one of the main things to spur me on.”

“At that he gave you up?” said I.

“He gave me up,” Tim answered; “and after all, Mark, old Weston is a fine fellow.  He said that there was just one thing for me to do, and that was to see and learn for myself.  So he wrote to his partner to-day, and I go in the morning.”

“But must you go on a day’s notice?”

“The quicker the better, Mark; and you see I haven’t been letting any grass grow under my feet.  When Weston and I reached our conclusion, I went to the store and got the trunk.  In the interval of packing, I’ve gone over to Pulsifer’s and arranged for Tip to work regularly for you this winter, looking after the farm.  He wanted to go up to Snyder County and dig for gold.  He knows where there’s gold in Snyder County and you may have trouble there; but when you see any signs of a break you are to tell Mrs. Tip.  She says she’ll head him off all right.  Nanny Pulsifer, by the way, will come every day and straighten up the house.  I saw Mrs. Bolum, and she said she would keep an eye on Nanny Pulsifer, for Nanny is likely to get one of her religious spells and quit work.  When you hear her singing hymns around the house, you are to tell Mrs. Bolum.”

[Illustration:  “Nanny is likely to get one of her religious spells and quit work.”]

“Who will look after Mrs. Bolum?  To whom must I appeal when I see signs there?”

“When Mrs. Bolum fails you, Mark, write to me,” Tim answered.  “When you see signs of her neglecting you, drop me a line and I’ll be home in three days.”

“I may have to appeal to you to save me from my friends,” I said, “if Tip Pulsifer goes digging gold and Nanny Pulsifer gets religion and old Mrs. Bolum belies her nature and forgets me.  But anyway, if Captain and I sit here at night knee-deep in dust and cobwebs, at least we can swell our chests and talk about our brother in the city, who is making—­how much?”

“Seven dollars a week!” cried Tim.  “Think of it, Mark, seven dollars a week.  That’s more than you made as a soldier.”

* * * * * *