Herbert was not sure whether he ought not to feel shocked.  He admitted to himself, however, that if he had a father and mother answering the description of Abner’s, that he would not so much regret leaving them.  At any rate, Abner’s words awoke a hope of sometime getting away from the place he already hated, and returning to his city home, now more valued than ever.

“We can’t go without money,” he said, in a troubled voice.

“Couldn’t we walk?”

“It’s too far, and I’m not strong.”

“I could walk it, ef I took time enough,” asserted Abner, positively.  “Hello! there’s dad!”

Herbert looked up, and, following Abner’s glance, saw a man approaching the farmhouse.  Mr. Barton—­for it was he—­was a tall man, shabbily attired, his head crowned with a battered hat, whose gait indicated a little uncertainty, and betrayed some difficulty about the maintenance of his equilibrium.

“Is that your father?” asked Herbert.

“It’s the old man, sure enough.  He’s about half full.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s been drinkin’, as usual; but he didn’t drink enough to make him tight.  Guess his funds give out.”

Herbert was rather shocked at Abner’s want of respect in speaking of his father, but even to him Mr. Barton hardly seemed like a man who could command a son’s respect.

“Wonder whether dad met marm on the way?” said Abner, musing.

By this time, Mr. Barton had entered the yard, and caught sight of his son and Herbert.

“Abner,” said he, in a thick voice, “who’s that boy?”

“Then he didn’t meet marm,” thought Abner.  “He’s a boy that’s goin’ to board with us, dad,” he answered.

“You don’t say!  Glad to make your acquaintance, boy,” he said, straightening up.

“Thank you, sir,” answered Herbert, faintly.

CHAPTER XXX

A MODEL HOUSEHOLD

“When did you come?” asked Barton, steadying himself against a tree.

“Half an hour ago,” answered Abner, for Herbert was gazing, with a repulsion he found it difficult to conceal, at Barton, whose flushed face and thick utterance indicated his condition very clearly.

“Who came with him?” continued Barton.

“You’d better ask marm.  She attended to the business.  It was a young man.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone to the village to buy some sassiges for dinner.”

“Good!” exclaimed Barton, in a tone of satisfaction.  “I’ll stay at home to dinner to-day.  Did the man pay your mother any money?”

“I s’pose so, or she wouldn’t be buyin’ sassiges.  Old Schickman won’t trust us any more.”

“The money should have been paid to me.  I’ll see about it when your marm comes back from the store.”

“You’d spend it all for drink, dad,” said Abner.

“How dare you speak so to your father, you ungrateful young dog!”