"I felt sorry for the poor fellow so after a week or more wrote the letter you received," said Frank, laughing.

"Then your answer came back to us all signed as it should be, but I thought it was Will trying to trick me further, so still did nothing. In fact, I had about forgotten the incident when a letter came from Amy telling us you had left home. Then we knew the S. O. S. was your call and waked immediately. That is why there was the long silence then the ticket by telegram. We were afraid you had given up hearing from us and left that place."

When Uncle John had finished his explanation, all that had been dark to Austin cleared away, and he laughed with the rest at the queer mix-up. It relieved him to know that after all his uncle had not purposely neglected him.

And that dinner! Was there ever another feast as good as this one? It was indeed a table to tempt an appetite under any circumstances, and to Austin, who had absolute peace of mind for the first time in weeks, it seemed more delicious than could be expressed.

But before he had finished his dinner, thoughts of the little ones at home and the Christmas dinner cooked by inexperienced hands came into his view, and his own good fortune almost choked him. If only they, too, could have eaten with Aunt Tillie! And he remembered, also, that only last Christmas Mother was with them, and tears sprang to his eyes. How much had happened in that year!

When the others had gone about their own affairs, John Moore took his young nephew and had a long talk with him. Austin was free to tell him all that had happened and why he had left home. Mr. Moore could understand how Henry Hill had treated the boy, for he too had received evil for good at his hands. He was sorry for the little ones, but hoped the sight of their needs would waken the chords of real manhood which once stirred the heart of his brother-in-law.

"Austin, I am pained at all you tell me and am sorry that it is going so ill with dear Elizabeth's children, but I can not see it our duty to bear your father's burdens. You are welcome here with us. To me you are like one of my own sons, and I want you to feel as the weeks go by that you are at home. I shall do by you just as I do by them."

Tears filled Austin's eyes at the kindness of his uncle, but the stinging words of his father rang in his ears, "You could not exist a month on your own resources," and he was determined to make his own way and prove to him that he could do for himself.

"No, Uncle John, I can not do that, though I appreciate your offer. I did not come here to live off your money, but I want to find work and support myself. I am strong enough to do it, and now that I have no care of the children I can do it I am certain."

"But, Austin, a boy like you should be in school. You are not yet fifteen, and for a year you have not been in school to speak of. You can stay right here and go every day," urged Mr. Moore.

"No, Uncle, I do not want to do that now. I am almost out of clothing. All I possess is in that suitcase, and I need to earn something for myself right away. Besides, Papa said I could not look out for myself." persisted Austin.

"Humph! Well, if that is what is on your mind, I do not blame you for going to work. Prove that you can take care of yourself and after that look out for other things," said Mr. Moore in hearty sympathy with the boy for resenting his father's taunt.

"I wish none of you would write anything home about me. I do not want Papa to know where I am nor one thing about my affairs."

"All right; I will inform the others of your wish. It will be hard on the children, but as for Henry, he ought to do a little worrying."

The next week was a busy one for the Moore household, and Austin helped them with their moving, staying with them till the hard work was over, and then found himself a place. This was not hard, for he was well known and universally liked. Those who would hire him knew him to be reliable beyond his years. The wages he received were small, pitifully so, but they were sufficient to again clothe him suitably, and to give him that feeling of independence and self-respect that is good for any boy.

Though he was satisfied with his present lot so far as his own self was concerned, his mind was never at rest about the children. In spirit he lived constantly with them, and was ever longing to return to them and bear their burdens. Not once did he contemplate entirely forsaking them. He believed the cloud which now overshadowed him and them would pass away and he again be welcome under the home roof. He built great air-castles of the time when he should become rich and return and care for them. But he could not overcome the feeling of repugnance toward his father, nor did he really try to do so.

When Austin had again fitted himself with a suitable wardrobe, he remembered his uncle's advice about going to school. Spring was at hand now, and the country-school term at a close, so he could do nothing for the present. But when Mr. Coles, a neighbor of his uncle's, offered him a place for the summer at reasonable wages with the understanding that when the summer was over he might remain with him and attend school the coming winter, Austin thought it wise to accept the offer, though the wages were considerably less than he could have gotten elsewhere. He thought that the lesser wage which Mr. Coles paid him would make his board right for the coming winter, and he did not wish to get something for nothing.

So Austin all through the hot summer months worked away on the farm, of Mr. Coles, doing anything and everything there was to be done. He plowed and sowed and reaped, milked, and fed the calves and pigs, and worked in the garden and orchard. Mr. Coles had a willing hand all the summer through.



CHAPTER 11

AUSTIN TAKES CARE OF HIMSELF

Some men set a high value upon honor, others will sell themselves for a trifle. The value of a man is not one whit higher than the value he sets on his honor. Some men scorn to be dishonest in the small affairs of life, and as friends and neighbors are ever upright and honorable, yet can be tempted in greater matters to sell their birthright for the gain of the profiteer or the influence of the politician. Other men abhor these greater forms of dishonor, but in little things are petty and mean. They are like the woman who prides herself on her cleverness when she cheats the milkman out of a quart of milk or the peddler out of a paper of pins. When a boy undertakes to look out for himself, he must learn to deal with these petty meannesses in others or be continually deceived.

Austin met the world with no expectation of fraud or ill will, and when he found these, he was surprized and grieved, and was quite unprepared to cope with the situation. His first summer's work was to teach him a rather severe lesson in human nature. Farmer Coles knew the boy and that he was a good worker, and deliberately planned to get a farm-hand at a very reasonable rate. He was careful to see that Austin earned fully every dollar he received all the summer through, but he had no intention of keeping him during the winter. When school began the first of September, there was yet much to be done in the fields, and Austin consented, at the farmer's suggestion, to keep at his work for another month, but the first of October he quit and started to school.

From the time he entered school, the atmosphere about the home, and Mr. Cole's attitude toward his choreboy, changed completely. Where he had been pleasant, he now was surly and cross. He found fault with all that Austin did, and it seemed impossible to please him in anything.

One evening Mr. Coles told Austin to get out the car and have it lighted and ready, for he intended to go to a neighbor's. This Austin did, carrying out with him a few matches to light the car-lamps. He had intended to take the surplus matches back to the kitchen, but as Mr. Coles came out ready to start, Austin forgot them. It was a thing forbidden about the Coles' premises that a hired man should carry matches in his pockets. Mr. Coles had been particular about this rule, and thus far Austin had not offended.

When they were ready to start for home, Mr. Coles had trouble in lighting his lamps, and his last match blew out. He was in the act of going in for another supply from his neighbor when Austin remembered those in his pocket and handed him one.

"Carrying matches, Austin?" asked the farmer sharply.

"No, not ordinarily, but I had two or three left from lighting the car this evening and had not yet carried them back to the kitchen."

"See that you dispose of them at once when we get back." But it was late and Austin was sleepy and again he forgot. He did not think of them till early in the morning while he was helping with the milking. His lantern went out, and he had started to the house for a match when he remembered those in his pocket, and, taking one out, struck it and lighted his lantern. Now the farmer had the excuse he was looking for. He had no intention of giving the boy his board all winter. Far was that from his mind. He had not liked to turn him out without a cause, but rather to make life so uncomfortable for him that he would not stay. Not till now had he found a real cause for an outburst of wrath, and using his opportunity to its fullest extent, he railed out at Austin, using abusive language.

"I am sorry, Mr. Coles, that I forgot to take the matches from my pocket, but you know very well that I do not smoke and have no need of them about me. Also you know how I came to have these at this time," said Austin hotly, for his anger burned at the language and accusations heaped upon him.

Mr. Coles' retort had been more bitter than ever, and Austin picked up the milk-bucket and lantern and walked out of the barn and to the house. Here he strained the milk, put away the lantern, washed himself, and went to his room, never saying a word to the farmer's wife, who looked at him wonderingly because he had come to the house before the chores were finished. He did not come down to breakfast, for he was too angry to eat at the same table with Mr. Coles. A little later he was ready, and coming down-stairs with his suitcase, he stopped to bid Mrs. Coles good-by.

"Why, Austin, what does this mean? You are not leaving us!"

"Yes, Mr. Coles and I have had trouble, and I will not stay any longer."

"Come, come, Austin, you are hasty. You kept your part of the agreement all summer, now do not leave as if we drove you off."

"Mr. Coles knows he has been unjust," said Austin going on out.

There were those who knew Mr. Coles to be the man he proved himself, and were not surprized when Austin gave up the place. One person who understood perfectly was Harry Coles, the farmer's nephew. He was a young married man just starting in life. The help that Austin could give night and morning was just what Harry needed with his milking and other chores, and here Austin found a home at once.

This family was congenial, and Austin was soon settled and steady at his school-work. He was made to feel that what he did fully paid for what he received and that he was not in any way an object of charity. As the weeks moved on so smoothly and pleasantly, Austin also made good progress in school. But his very happiness made him more sad when he thought of the children. How his surroundings contrasted with theirs! While he was enjoying such kindness at the hands of these friends, he knew they were being neglected.

Though he had never written home, and they knew nothing about him, he kept in pretty good touch with their affairs through the letters the girls wrote to their cousins. In every one they had spoken of him, and when cold weather came on, the burden of their letters was for Austin.

After Austin left, his father had hired a woman to keep house for a while, but she did not stay long. Help such as he needed was hard to get, and he had not been able to procure another housekeeper. The girls were hardly old enough to understand how to keep all the ends of the housework going, and their father was as helpless as they. Home had gone in a most haphazard manner. Mr. Hill had encouraged the children to accept places to work as they had been offered. It was only occasionally that they were all at home together. A sense of love and loyalty for home was fading out of their minds, as was also the sense of moral obligation. The younger children were becoming rebellious and evil-minded. All this Austin read between the lines of the letters. His heart ached as he thought of his dear mother and how different it would have been had she lived. He would be jolly all the evening with Harry and his wife, but when he lay upon his bed, his pillow was often wet with his tears. As yet, though, he could not see it his duty to go home.

"Where do you suppose Austin is? Does he ever think of home? I wonder if he is yet alive. Have you heard anything of him?" wrote Amy in one of her letters.

"Do not worry about Austin," her uncle had written in reply; "he is able to care for himself, and I am certain he is getting on all right."

"Listen to what Uncle John says about Austin," said Amy as she read the letter, "I have an idea he is with Uncle John, else he would not be so confident he is all right."

Henry Hill read the letter carefully. He wanted Austin, he needed him. He had his lesson and would not nag the boy any more. While Austin was patient, it was plain to be seen that he would not stand to be trampled on. Thinking it all over, he decided to send a letter to his brother-in-law that would bring the boy home if he were there. It was not to be a harsh or authoritative letter, but an appeal for the children. He knew Austin would come home if he had assurance of better treatment.

While these matters were being worked out in the Hill home, Austin was tasting of pleasures which were to make him see life in a new light. We can not always see the plan of the Master in all his dealings with us, but afterward we look back and know that when the way seemed darkest and the path before us the most dim, the hand of God was guiding all the way.



CHAPTER 12

THE REVIVAL

Only those who have lived in a rural community can realize the place in the social life of the people the revival holds. In the city and larger town the movies and theaters with other places of amusement and social activities fill up the time, but here the occasional picnic, party, or dance is the only form of social diversion, and the younger people become starved for somewhere to go and something to do. And the older people, while they enjoy the spiritual enlivenment of the revival, also come under the power of social enjoyment and give themselves over to a season of communion together.

The little village at the edge of which Harry Coles lived was the center socially of the farming region round about, and the little church of the village the center of the village life. Joseph Bennet, pastor of the congregation, was a spiritual-minded man who had the interests of the people at heart. His life had been clean and sincere, and every one had confidence in him, so when he planned to begin a revival early in the winter, the entire community was ready to lend him assistance with their interest and presence. From the first this meeting gave promise of more than ordinary success. It was not a big meeting because of the work of some talented and eloquent evangelist, but was the joint effort of pastor and people striving under God's hand to be a blessing to their community. The preaching was simple but plain and earnest and carried conviction to the hearts of the hearers.

Pastor Bennet was a wise man in many ways, and to enlist the interest and cooperation of the younger folk he formed a choir wholly of young people and gave them a place in the front of the building. This gave them a feeling of responsibility and overcame to a great extent the possibility of inattention or irreverence on their part. He thought it gave him a better chance of winning them for Christ, and that was his special aim in the meetings, the winning of souls for Christ.

Austin was interested in the meeting from the first, and was a regular attendant. And when he was invited to join the choir, he accepted, though he confessed himself a poor singer. Pastor Bennet was interested in this quiet boy and spoke to him at different times about giving his heart to God. Also Austin's Sunday-school teacher, who was organist, was particularly interested in Austin and often spoke to him of his soul's need. His place in the choir put him near her, and he was often conscious of her prayers for him.

Though Austin had always been an obedient boy and was extremely conscientious in all he did, he had never professed faith in Christ. He had always been conscious of the will and desire of his mother and had sought to walk pleasing to her, rather than to acknowledge his allegiance to God. But in the perplexities of the past year since his mother had been away he had often blindly called out to God for help and had felt that God did help and strengthen him. But now, as he sat under the preaching of God's word, he became conscious of a longing in his soul that only acquaintance with God could satisfy. He desired with all his heart to be a Christian.

But the same obstacles stood in his way that hinder the spiritual progress of other boys. He was timid, extremely so, and the thought of going forward and kneeling with the other seekers at the altar of prayer frightened him. And he feared he could not hold out if he did start, which would be worse than not starting at all. There was the possibility of ridicule and mockery that he might receive at the hands of others, which, made the way look fearful. So, halting between two opinions, he waited from night to night before he at last made his decision.

The meeting was the one great subject of conversation in the home where he lived. Though none of the family were professors, all of them were in sympathy with the meeting, all respected the pastor and wished him success, and all honestly believed that it was better for any person to "make a start," as they expressed it. They were all genuinely pleased when Nell Purdy's brother and John Finley's son, Sam, forsook their wild ways and "joined church." And they watched closely to see who else of their neighbors and friends seemed to be most interested and might before the meeting closed "make a start." If one of them had to remain away, he was always eager to inquire of the others how the meeting was and who "went forward." And the Coles home was a sample of all the homes in the neighborhood. There was no doubt but that the meeting was getting hold of the people in a way to bring lasting good.

One night Austin stood singing with the others the touching invitation hymn, when he noticed that Theo Kelsey, who stood next to him, was trembling violently. Austin's own heart beat faster as he saw Theo thinking seriously of his soul's salvation. The organist, looking up, saw the concern and interest written on each boyish face and silently prayed as she played. Another worker saw, too, and came and talked to the boys, but both shook their heads at her invitation; however, when she was gone, Theo said in a whisper to Austin, "I will go if you will."

"All right," said Austin, hardly thinking Theo would have the courage to walk out past the others to the place of prayer. But Theo was in earnest and hesitating but a moment he walked past Austin and the others to the altar. Austin was a boy to keep his promise, and it had been only timidity that had kept him away from the place of prayer for several nights, and he too stepped forward just behind Theo.

He bowed himself at the end of the altar almost at his Sunday-school teacher's feet, and she left her post at the organ at once and knelt beside him. At first he was bewildered and could hardly breathe for the wild beating of his heart, but in a little while he remembered why he was there and the promises of God to those who come to him. His teacher was by his side to instruct and teach him, and in only a short time he felt in his heart that God had forgiven him for his past sins, and that he was His child. A sweet sensation of peace and quiet filled his heart, and he rose from his knees a new creature. Some who had been converted had shouted aloud the praises of God, but he did not feel like doing that. When the Pastor spoke to him a little later and asked him if he had received that which he sought, he smiled and said he thought he had.

"Then be ready to tell to others what God has done for you," said Pastor Bennet as he passed on to speak to another.

Before the services closed opportunity was given for those who had found the Lord to testify of his love, and Austin, true to his natural principles of honesty and sincerity, rose and, in very trembling tones, told that he believed Jesus saved him.

Austin had been the only member of the Coles household to go to church that night, and the next morning he said nothing to the family about what had happened to him, but went on about his chores as usual. When Harry, while they were busy milking, asked him who had gone forward, Austin spoke of two or three whom he had seen go before he went, but said nothing about himself. He was not ashamed, but he was yet very timid. That night Harry soon saw that Austin was among the converts. He chided him a little when they reached home again for not telling him about it, but added kindly, "Stay with it, Austin. It is the best thing any man can do."

The meeting soon closed, but Pastor Bennet, being a wise man, as we have said, set to work finding something for the young converts to do. He did not find them all ready to begin active service, but in Austin Hill he found a young Christian who, though timid, was ready to do all he could for God's glory. The Pastor instructed him to use every opportunity for prayer and testimony, and Austin, following this advice, was soon bold to move forward when the others were yet standing back timidly. His prayers and testimonies he knew to be often poorly worded, and at times he was tempted with the thought that they did no one any good, but he remembered that they were doing him good and exercised himself accordingly.

At the first business meeting of the church after the new members were taken in, Austin was elected as assistant class-leader. He did not refuse the place, but went to his pastor puzzled.

"I am young, only a boy, and many in the congregation are old men. How could I lead a meeting? It is all I can do to testify, and I am afraid I will make poor success."

"I know you are young, Austin, but you are earnest, and the Lord will help you. All that is necessary on your part anyway is to be here and see that the meeting starts on time, and read a portion of Scripture, possibly with a few comments. You need not feel you must preach a sermon. And, for a little hint—the best leader is the one who can get others to do something," said his pastor in reply.



CHAPTER 13

THE YOUNG CHURCH-MEMBER

The congregation in the village was not supplied with a pastor all its own, Mr. Bennet also served another church. He seldom could be with the village church on prayer-meeting night, so the responsibility that fell upon the class-leader was increased. Also it so happened that the man who was acknowledged as class-leader had fallen back in his religious life until he needed the excitement of a big meeting to stir him up to diligence. Austin already knew when he was elected as assistant that to him would fall most of the meetings, for Deacon Bond was seldom there.

The advice given by the Pastor was of great service to Austin, and following it he sought out each week some one who was willing to read a portion of the Word and give the few comments necessary. He was proving himself a good leader for the meetings, and Pastor Bennet took a real delight in him.

Before many weeks the time for the quarterly meeting had once more rolled around, and the presiding elder was guest of the Pastor. He had come in late on prayer-meeting evening and went with Brother Bennet to the meeting. Both men had spent the day in travel and conversation and were quite weary, and they knew the congregation was not expecting them and had expected to have their meeting without the pastor's presence. Therefore they insisted, when Austin came to them to offer them the charge of the meeting, that he go ahead as had been planned, as if no preacher were present.

Austin carried this word back to the old brother who had promised to read the Word that evening, but he fainted in spirit at sight of two preachers and would do nothing. There was no way but that the young class-leader take the meeting, which he did with fair success and a rich blessing to his own soul. This little incident was always a source of much encouragement to Austin in his life as a Christian, for in it he learned that if he did his duty, God would help him through.

It was perhaps March or April when Austin went to his uncle's to spend a few hours. As soon as he arrived, they brought him Amy's latest letter. It bore a special message for him.

"Is Austin there?" she asked. "If he is tell him to come home. We all want him so much, and Papa says he wishes he would come," and continuing she told how much he was needed.

Austin listened while they read the letter to him, and all the family watched his face to see what he would think about it. He sat quietly a while, a great light coming into his face. This was what he had been waiting for, and praying for—word that his father wanted him to come. He knew that if he went home without such word, his father would taunt him about it, but that if he waited till his father humbled himself ever so little he would be spared that trial.

School-time for the spring was nearly over, and Austin, in the quick mental survey which he took of his affairs while the letter was being read, thought he could easily sacrifice the few remaining weeks. If he could have followed his own impulses, he would have set off that night, but such a step was not practical.

"I shall go home at once, Uncle John. I have thought for a long time that I ought to go, and this letter makes me certain."

"I am glad that is your decision, Austin, and while we shall miss you, your aunt and I shall feel much better satisfied about the children if you are with them. I have not liked the way Henry has been managing them. It is not a good thing for children to have too many homes," replied Mr. Moore.

"I wish I could start tonight, but I can hardly do that. I shall spend next Sunday with them, see if I don't," said Austin with his face beaming.

Strong as the home cords were pulling, Austin found it hard to say farewell to his many friends where he was. Especially had his life in the village congregation been most sweet. The Pastor had been encouraging him in Christian service, and deep in Austin's heart was a desire to be of real use in the Master's vineyard. He wondered if some time he might not, like good Pastor Bennet, preach the gospel. His efforts in the class meetings had given him a boldness and confidence that was making him a leader among them in other ways. He had a Sunday-school class, which would miss him very much. All these things Austin considered that night after he had gone to bed, and found that even his joy for going would be mixed with regret at leaving his church home.

After talking the whole matter over frankly with Uncle John, Austin had returned to his boarding-place in the home of Harry Coles and told Harry and his wife his new plans. They sympathized with him, for they had known something of his homesick longings, but they were sorry to lose his comradeship out of their home, for they had grown to love him.

"You had better see your school term through. You may never have another chance," Harry suggested.

"I can not do it, Harry. I should be no good in school after this. I must go at once. I would start tonight if I could get ready," said Austin, his face shining with animation.

His school-teacher was sorry to lose her earnest, faithful pupil and told him so. He found himself regretting leaving her who had made his path clear through the winter's study.

Saying good-by to Pastor Bennet proved to be quite an undertaking. Austin did not realize how he had learned to love this friend, nor all that his pastor had been to him; but now, as he stood before him for the last time, his lips trembled and his heart sank. Who would give him the advice and council so needed by every young Christian? To whom should he go in times of spiritual darkness and perplexity?

"Austin, you will have peculiar trials in your father's home, for you tell me he is not only unsaved, but a drinking man also. If you settle it in your heart to be a bold witness for Christ from the beginning, you will have little trouble with discouragements from him. Be bold and determined and keep your faith strong in God, and you will be able to meet the hardest trials."

"Brother Bennet, Christ is needed in my father's house. I mean to do my duty by the children, and if possible lead them to the Savior. I will neither turn back nor give up, and by God's grace I shall be bold to speak for Him when I ought. Pray for me that I may be able to prove myself a real Christian."

"Another thing, Austin, seek out some spiritual people and meet with them regularly. It is far more difficult to live a Christian life without the encouragement of fellow travelers in the way."

"I promise to do that, and to get the children into Sunday-school as soon as I can," replied the boy.

There was to Austin a great deal of satisfaction in the fact that he should go back to his father with good evidence of having taken care of himself. He left home with only the clothes that he had put into one small suitcase; he returned with two suitcases well packed. Besides this, he had money for his fare home and a goodly sum besides. That this money would go for the needs of the children he very well knew, and possibly for that reason he had been a little more lavish in buying for himself now, while he had it.

Besides thus providing himself with means and clothes, he had been able to get almost a full winter's schooling. This afforded him pleasure, for he realized to some extent the handicap it is to any man to lack in learning. He would have liked to continue in school a while longer, but to him the path of duty pointed plainly back to his charge. Now he had lost the vision of his mother to urge him on to duty and had in her place the will of his God. He possessed a deep feeling of reverence and love for God, and went back to his place of responsibility resolved not to let the influence of unholy surroundings hinder him in the service of his Savior.

The evening came that he was to start for home. Time had slipped by quickly, for he had been careful not to give himself more time than was actually necessary for his preparations. He stood again at the same little station with Aunt Tillie and Uncle John. Less than two years had passed since he, with the children, had stood there before waiting for the train, but it seemed to him he had lived many times that long. Then he had gone with a child's trust into the unknown future, now he knew to some extent what the trials were before him. Then he had only the vision of his mother as a star to lead him on, now he had the blessed Son of God as his Example and Pattern.



CHAPTER 14

HOME AGAIN

The writing of the letter to Uncle John in which they had so urged that Austin come home had been a great joy to Amy. After she had sent the letter, she began a rather impatient wait for the reply. She believed Austin would come if he was really at Uncle John's, but how could she be sure he was there? For several days her heart beat very fast when she saw the mail-carrier coming, and drooped again when he had gone by without leaving the letter.

They had moved from the place where they had lived when Austin went away and were instead in a house near a thriving town not very far distant. I say they were living here, but in reality the family was broken up, for Henry Hill had fulfilled Austin's greatest fear, and had allowed the children to become scattered till there were none of them at home. Some of them had places to work, while others were staying with friends for accommodation's sake. But the children while they were in the little wayside house had enjoyed it much better than the lonely spot near the oil-fields.

At this time Nell was with a farmer helping his wife in her work. She was given the care of the small children. Harry was working for another farmer, doing what he could to pay for his board.

Amy helped a lady in town part of the time. The little ones were cared for by strangers. Will had come to his father, and the two men worked most of the time, but spent what they earned as rapidly as they earned it. It was hard now to get the drink they both loved, for their State had gone dry. Altogether it was a torn and scattered family Austin was to find on his return.

Amy had not made the best of a success as housekeeper. She hated work in the house, cooking and dish-washing especially. If her father had been more kind, she would have done better, but he was quick to criticize and slow to approve, and she had been glad to see the family scattered that she might be free from the drudgery. Though she was glad for the freedom from responsibility, yet she did not like being drifted about, and longed for Austin. She knew he would lift the load and make it easier for all of them.

One day a young fellow alighted from the passenger-coach with a suitcase in each hand and a look of eagerness in his face. He set out at once to find the little wayside house, and came to it only to find it a bachelor's camp, there being no children about. He inquired and learned where he could find Amy and the little ones.

"Austin! Amy, Amy, look! Isn't that Austin coming?" Lila's excited little voice rang with joy. Amy rushed to the door in time to see the little ones well down the street where a tall man was receiving them with open arms. She knew him at a glance and ran to meet him as fast as they had run. It seemed that she could never take her arms from about his neck. Doyle and Lila were clinging to him, and he was trying to greet them all at once. None of them could get through pressing their rosy lips to his cheeks. If he had had any misgivings as to his welcome, they were quick to dispel them.

"Where are Nell and Harry?" asked Austin when he could get his breath.

"Nell is caring for Mrs. Blaine's children, and Harry is riding Mr. Smith's lead horse," promptly explained Doyle.

"Papa found places for all of us, and we like it better than staying at home alone. It is so lonely without you, Austin. Now we can all come back home again," and Amy's eyes were filled with tears as she looked into her beloved brother's face.

"Well, do not cry now, Sister, for I am at home and to stay. I will not leave you any more. Let us all get on out home and begin housekeeping again," Austin said bruskly to cover his feelings. Tears were on his cheeks, and a choke in his throat as he looked at the little motherless children so joyful to see him. He looked up with a new feeling of responsibility to God, whom he believed was pleased to have him again take the children.

In the next two hours the children tried to tell him all that had happened in his absence, while he listened half abstractedly, trying to plan the course he should take. He could not set up housekeeping permanently without his father's consent and support, but he felt certain that his father meant to do his part. Before the day was done, he had etablished himself in the little house by the side of the road, and had the three children with him.

"I hear that Austin is home, Nellie," said Mr. Blaine an evening or two later, after he had returned from town.

"Mr. Blaine, is that true? I want to go home right away. I want to see him! I must see him! Are you sure he is home?" and the little face looked up into his tremulously.

"I see I have made a mistake. Mrs. Blaine will be after me for making her nurse-girl dissatisfied," laughed Mr. Blaine.

"I have to see him!" and the child began to cry.

"There, there, don't cry, Nellie. I will be going over that way one of these days and will take you over," soothed the man.

"I can't wait a day or two. I want to see him now. I'll walk home in the morning, I will. I have to see Austin." Nellie had dried her tears instantly at the thought of being put off a few days. Her black eyes were snapping.

"Well, we shall see about it in the morning," and the man passed into the kitchen to wash in preparation for supper.

Nellie's fears were high that Mrs. Blaine might object to letting her go and demand that she remain longer, for she was really needed; but so determined and defiant was she that she would have gladly undertaken the walk across the prairies to her home rather than remain away from her brother.

But Mrs. Blaine understood how Nellie felt, and let her go, and Nell rode with Mr. Blaine, who passed by the Hill home on his way to town. His children's little nurse fairly flew up the path into the house and, bouncing in, sprang into Austin's arms. She sobbed out her joy on his shoulder. Dear little Nell! Austin loved the others, but already he had seen in Nell something of the same devotion to duty and to the younger children that had filled his own heart. Home would mean little to him without her.

Before the week was out Harry had heard and came home to be with Austin. He had them all together again. Home had a new meaning to all of them now. Austin wept with joy at their present happiness and with pity for their past neglect This was his work, his place in life. He would stay at home now through rough and smooth sailing. They should not be left alone again as they had been. Many were the vows he made in those first few days after his home-coming.

His father had received him kindly, with no reference to his hasty departure nor the cause of it. He seemed satisfied that Austin should take the reins of home government again, and did not openly oppose him in any way, neither did he lend him assistance nor encouragement. Will came over to see his brother, but they had so little in common that he did not remain very long.

Austin found his days filled with active service. He had little time for reverie; but at night when all was quiet, he lay and mused and planned. He was now almost sixteen. He marveled at his undertaking the care of the children as he did when he was but thirteen. The responsibility looked greater to him now than then. He had thought only of their physical comfort then, now he began to consider their spiritual training also. Would he be able to lead them to Christ? What ought he to do first? He looked back over the months since his mother's death and saw that God had led him all the way, and he reached out to his heavenly Father now for guidance and grace.

He remembered his promise to Brother Bennet, and even at their first meal had bidden the children to stop while he asked God's blessing on the food. The children had looked at him curiously. It had been a little difficult to bow and thank God at the first meal after his father was with them. Henry Hill was not a reverent man, and while he had not openly opposed his son in this pious act, he had gone ahead as if no blessing were being asked. And always since he had ignored completely the fact that Austin said grace at meals. The children waited without prompting for him to finish his prayer. To establish the family altar had been even more difficult, yet he had found time to read and pray with the children. They lent themselves to his ways, for they were glad to have him with them again. But the new order of things in the house proved in time to be very vexing to Henry Hill. Every word and act of his godly son was a stab in his conscience, and as he had no thought of turning to God, he hated accordingly the one who caused his uneasiness. Wilbur laughed at Austin for his queer ways, as he called them, and scoffed and mocked, yet down in his heart respected him. He would not have had his brother different.



CHAPTER 15

THE BATTLE OF TWO WILLS

There were many changes to be made in the Hill household before it could be running smoothly. The children's wardrobe was low, their father being a careless buyer and the girls being inexperienced in making and mending garments. Austin had anticipated this state of affairs when he had so carefully saved his own wages till he should come home. It was not long till his little hoard was gone. He had also had to buy a number of things for the house to make it comfortable and at all homelike.

Henry Hill had a most comfortable feeling to know that there was some one at home who was responsible for the children, so he took many opportunities to be away. In fact he felt better away with some of his friends than when at home with Austin. It is not a pleasant thing for any father to feel that the serious eyes of his own son rest upon him in disapproval and reproof. Every sight of the boy made him feel uncomfortable and as if he did not come up to what was expected of him. Austin was not a fellow to speak out his reproofs, but he thought them and his eyes told what his heart was saying. Every week found him and his parent farther and farther apart—if possible.

Austin expected no sympathy and asked for none from either his brother or father in the way he was taking. He perhaps went to the opposite extreme and was so indifferent to what they thought that it had the effect of antagonizing them. It is at least a fact that there was no feeling of sympathy nor cooperation between them, and that antagonism grew until it was almost open warfare between him and his father. He felt such a repugnance toward his father and a hatred of the way he was taking that it continually showed out in his attitude toward him. In later years Austin could understand, but now he was doing only what he believed necessary to protect his own soul from the discouraging influence.

Partly because he always liked to shirk responsibility, and partly because he and Austin had so few thoughts and feelings in common, the father stayed away from home more all the time. To this Austin was not averse, for it gave him more time with the children.

While Austin had been gone so long, his father had been in the habit of inviting in men like himself, and they had often played cards and drank till far into the night. Frequently the wee small hours of morning had found them still busy with their cards and bottles. When Austin came home, he could hardly endure to have a thing like this happen with the little children in the house. He had no right to forbid his father, but he did let him know how he felt about it. The result had been that the father felt most uncomfortable to have his associates gather at his home any longer.

Austin usually retired early with the children, and his father became aware of this. He had missed his social evenings with his friends, and wished to have them again, so he had invited three of the "boys" to come rather late, after all the children were in bed, and spend an evening together. It happened that Austin had gone out that evening and did not get back till late. When he came in, he was much surprized to find the four men occupying the kitchen-table with their cards. They had also in some way obtained drink.

With a quick searching glance at the table to see if there were signs of gambling, Austin went upstairs without a word. But so strong was his influence and disapproval that it killed all the interest, and the men all left.

Mr. Hill sat alone, after they had gone, with the same feeling he used to have when his father had caught him doing something mean. He rankled at the thought of this boy setting himself up as judge. He thought he ought to be the master of his own house. He did not reason that Austin had said nothing, that he was only battling with the boy's thoughts. That night he determined that Austin should learn to keep his place. It was preposterous, he thought, that he could not entertain his friends as he pleased.

Austin's feelings after he had reached his room were as serious and positive as his father's, but he took an entirely different view of the whole matter. The question with him was how he should put a stop to such carousing in the house. He wanted to bring up the children in right paths, and how could that be done if they had to be thrown into such influence? It would be a matter of only a short while till Harry would be old enough to begin enjoying these evil associates. So while his father was contemplating how he should show Austin his place, Austin was wondering how he should be able to get to his father's deceived heart something of what his duty was.

"You thought yourself pretty smart last night," he said to Austin the next morning in his surliest voice.

"I was not spying, but was only out to prayer-meeting and came in a little late," answered the boy.

"Looks like a man ought to have a right to entertain his friends in his own house without being ordered about by a boy," continued the man in a growling manner.

"Nobody was ordering you about, so far as I know. I am sure I said nothing," Austin replied.

Now was his time, Austin thought, to explain himself. "I do think it is no example for you to set before the children to have such a crowd in," he said.

Here the conversation stopped for the time, but the feeling of antagonism only grew by the encounter.

Mr. Hill had promised to support the family; but Austin, when he had gotten everything to going smoothly, saw no reason why he should not work also, rather than stay at home all the time. With his help morning and evening it was not difficult for the girls, now fourteen and twelve years old, to do the work nicely.

This was a welcome decision to his father, and soon it was the old story, Austin working and giving all his wages to the support of the family, and his father helping only as was positively necessary.

It was not many weeks after Austin's return home (for changes came rapidly in this household) that the father had forsaken his job and was again wandering about, leaving the family on Austin. It was a serious outlook for the boy. No longer did he entertain the optimistic view of life that he had held in the beginning of his experiences. When he was fourteen, he felt as if he should be able to support the family like a man, now at sixteen he knew that he could never do that and keep them together in the home besides. It took too much of his time and ambition trying to train the children and direct their minds in the right channels. His father was drinking all he could obtain and that was liquor of a very bad kind. In all, the outlook was serious as the summer drew to a close. Just what the winter would bring for him and his charges he hardly knew.

He had followed the advice of Pastor Bennet and had sought out a congregation with whom he met in worship. He had passed by the richer, finer church, and sought to find among the more humble congregations one that would be spiritual. Also he wanted to go where he could hope to take the children and have them look presentable. He hardly hoped to be able to dress them for a wealthy place. Every week showed Austin more clearly the battle that must be waged, not of fists or of tongues, but of wills, in the home. The children were growing older, and they, too, had lost for the father that feeling of reverence and respect which is right. They had been more than a year away from Austin's influence and restraint, and while they out of sheer thankfulness yielded themselves to him when he returned, yet as the weeks went by Austin saw that he should have a very big undertaking on his hands just to hold them in control. Besides this was his father's antagonism. The men did not quarrel, but cutting and sneering remarks, indifference to his wishes, and a general atmosphere of hostility prevailed in his father's presence, while Austin stood against all this determined to hold his points and if possible keep the home clean. Gradually Austin's influence in the home prevailed, and because of this, no doubt, his father was found more often away.



CHAPTER 16

SEEKING NEW PASTURE

When David roamed over the hills of Bethlehem feeding his father's sheep, he occasionally had to lead them into new pastures. He knew that sheep to thrive must feed on rich grasses and drink of living waters. When he sought out these feeding-places, he took into consideration the needs of the sheep, finding pasture where the young could feed as safely as those who were stronger.

God's people are compared to sheep and their pastors to shepherds, and the Word of God preached to them is compared to the good pastures. Austin found himself a lone sheep separated from his flock and away from his shepherd with the responsibility of seeking out his own pasture. But you may be certain that he asked the guidance and assistance of the Chief Shepherd.

"Seek out as soon as you can, Austin, a spiritual people and worship with them regularly," Pastor Bennet had said in his farewell counsel, and these words kept ringing in Austin's ears. To a boy of less timid nature this would not have been so great an undertaking, but to Austin it was a serious problem. In the first place his knowledge was limited. His religious experience had been bounded by life under the care of Pastor Bennet, and he did not realize the great difference between church and church. That some churches were richer than others he knew, and that some Christians were less humble than others he was also aware. He was certain that the people who attended the larger churches would dress too fine for him and his family, and he would feel neither welcome nor comfortable. He therefore must hope to find his pasture among the smaller and more humble congregations. Pastor Bennet had expressly advised that he find a spiritual people. Why were not all Christians spiritual? Were they not all serving the same God!

The first Sunday he went alone to seek out his place. There were two reasons for this, first that he could go in and out with less notice and also listen with less distraction, and the other reason was that the children were without suitable clothing to go with him. They wanted to go, but he put them off with a promise for the future. He had been making inquiry about a place to worship and had learned of an earnest, zealous people who worshiped in a small building on a side street. From what he had heard, he felt attracted to this place. It seemed to have a reputation for earnestness and spiritual advancement more than any other.

He entered among the other worshipers and took a seat well back, and watched to see how the service was conducted and to compare this congregation with the one he had left. The people came in quietly and seemed humble and sincere. He found himself entering into the spirit of the meeting. The Sunday-school was not large, but was interesting, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. When the minister rose to speak, he had a message that cheered the hearts of his hearers. Austin sat attentively listening, his serious eyes dwelling on the face of the speaker. Pastor Gray was soon attracted to the earnest young listener, and when the service closed, hurried back to grasp his hand and speak to him. Others of the members also made him welcome with pleasant greetings and hearty invitations to return and worship with them again. Austin left the house cheered and comforted, with thankfulness in his heart that so soon he had found a feeding-place.

He told the children where he had been and that by the following Sunday he wanted to have them all ready to go with him and enroll in the Sunday-school. This was to be a new experience for the children, for they had been out of Sunday-school so long that the younger ones hardly knew what it would be like. All of them from Amy to Doyle were glad to make ready for the new experience.

The next Sunday morning was a busy one, but in due time Austin with his little flock about him walked down the dusty street to the place of worship. He was met at the door by the superintendent and made welcome, and the children were placed in their proper classes. When it came time for the study of the lesson, Austin took an active and interested part, which pleased his teacher very much and attracted the attention of the superintendent. They had been needing a teacher for the boys' class, and at once that worthy person thought she saw in Austin just what was needed.

"Brother Hill," she asked him after Sunday-school, "have you ever taught a Sunday-school class?"

"Yes, I had a class before I came here," he answered.

"We are needing a teacher for a class of boys. Would you be willing to take it?"

Immediately Austin thought of Pastor Bennet's instruction to his young converts, to take hold of any work that might be given them to do. Besides, he longed to be useful.

"I should be glad to do so," was his answer.

This class of boys was a real blessing to Austin all through the summer, and he found himself taking each one into his heart. He wanted to be able to lead them also to his Savior. Soon he began going out to the evening services and to the midweek prayer-meetings, and found himself one of the little flock working for the Master. It was with gladness that he was able to write back to Pastor Bennet that he had indeed found a real home. So the summer wore away. Austin was as busy and as happy as he had ever been in his life. To be with the children and to feel he was being a blessing to them brought gladness to him, and added to this was the association with the little congregation of spiritual people. His heart swelled with thanksgiving to God.

Every boy with ambition in his heart feels great longings to be useful in this world, to accomplish something. According to each boy's talents and inclinations these longings take different forms. One pictures himself a successful business man, another rises high in some of the professions, yet another becomes in his dreams a man who understands the sciences, or who digs deep into the mysterious things of this world. Every real boy has his dreams, and Austin was not an exception. He would not always be with the children. In a few years they would be grown, and he would be free. Then, oh, then he would go forth to his achievements! But when he looked forward, there was a broad expanse of years. And already his wings began beating against the bars. He longed to be out, to be free.

Again he found that the things which boys like appealed to him. There were outings and sports he would have liked to take part in, but his home responsibilities hindered him. He wanted often to do things which under other circumstances would have been all right, but by the doing of which he would lose influence with the children. Often he would have to steel himself against those things his boyhood called for and be as one much older. This gave him a manner rather stern and grave, and made him unlike other boys. It shut him off from those of his own age, and to a great extent made him unable to fully sympathize with his sisters in their girlishness. It seemed to him they ought to be steady and serious like himself, and often he gave them sharp reproofs, which were hard for them to bear. In later years they saw that he had more to carry than nature had made a boy ready for; and he realized that often he had asked too much of them.

The days were full of perplexities for Austin. The children had been left to themselves and had worked out their own problems, each in his or her own way, and the result was that they had lowered in moral tone and were in many instances crafty and deceitful. Austin was left alone with them for long periods at a time, and to bring the obedience that was necessary for the governing of such a household he had often to use sternness and even to chastise some of the younger ones. He must teach them some of the principles of obedience.

"Austin," said his father one day, "I have a contract for putting up hay that will give work for all of us for six weeks or more. How would you like to load up the family and enough cooking-utensils for use in the camp and go out with us? Amy and Nell could do most of the cooking, and you could have wages just as I shall give Wilbur. We shall be in camp steady till the work is done."

Austin considered this proposition, and accepted his father's offer. It would be a change for all of them, and he had always been fond of outdoor life. If the contract was properly fulfilled, it would net a good sum of money for the family purse, which meant a great deal. All the children entered into the plans for their outing with enthusiasm. To live like Gipsies for a few weeks would be great sport they were certain.



CHAPTER 17

TO THE HAY-FIELDS

They were to go to the hay-fields about the first of October, and the work would keep them a full six weeks, during which time they wished to remain constantly in camp. They would go to the more distant part of the fields and work toward town. The grass was upon hilly ground, making the work somewhat tedious in places. As the country was only thinly settled, they would be the entire time away from all social life. The camp would be moved several times, each time being pitched nearer town.

It would be a full day's drive from home to the place for the first camp, with the wagons loaded as they would have to be, therefore all preparations for the start were made the day before. The bulky machinery needed for haying was loaded upon wagons, while the camping-outfit, bedding, clothing, and all things for family use were put upon a separate wagon, where the children were to ride also. Austin was to be the driver of this wagon, and from the first be given the oversight of the children. The party would consist of Mr. Hill, Wilbur, Ned Bailey (who had been hired to help on the job), Austin, and the children.

In gathering together the implements needed, some one had to make a trip across a small pasture-field from which the scrubby timber had not been cleared. Will had hitched a team of young mules to one of the wagons and gone on this errand. The mules were frisky fellows and enlivened this little journey by running away. Wilbur got them under control with little trouble, but it was noticed afterward that one of the wheels of the wagon had been injured by striking against a tree. Because his load would not be so heavy as the others, Austin was given this wagon.

The morning they were to start every one was up early and eager to be off; but as is always the case at such times, they found more to do than they had supposed, and it was nearly noon when they left the house. They stopped in town to get groceries and a few things needed for the work, and were off again. Only Mr. Hill knew where the hay-fields were located, and as the road led through a rough country, he took the lead, the others following, making a jolly little caravan.

They had not gone far on the way when all the joy of the trip was taken away for Austin. He saw a suspicious-looking brown bottle pass between Ned and Mr. Hill. Too well he knew what that meant, and how unreasonable and inconsistent his father would be when his brain should be fired by the bottle's contents. In only a little while the silly jokes and ribald laughter of the two men floated back to those in the last wagon. Austin looked on the children in pity and was sorry that he had consented to take them on such a journey. But all they could do now was to go ahead, fare as they might.

Henry Hill still had a conscience, and at every draft from the hottle it lashed him harder, but he mistook it for Austin's accusing thoughts. He felt the serious, reproving eyes of his son rest upon him every time he took a sup, and to avoid this unpleasant sensation he drove to one side, and when Austin came along by him, he ordered that he go to the lead.

He knew that dim as the road was and rough, Austin would have all he could manage with his driving and could give no time to what was going on behind him. Austin protested against this arrangement, for he did not know the way nor the condition of the roads. There were a number of small streams to be crossed, none of which had bridges, and all of which had treacherous quicksand beds, and he hated to drive first with the children. But his father was already past reasoning with and motioned Austin on with an imperative flourish of his hand. After getting the directions as well as he could Austin drove ahead. Presently they came to one of the little streams, the banks of which were steep and sandy, but by paying strict attention to what he was doing, Austin got into the water and out again on the other side without accident. The other wagons were not so fortunate, for one of them tipped over and spilled the machinery into the stream. It took some time to get everything out and on the wagon again, and the combined strength of the men was needed to accomplish it. To cheer themselves on their way Mr. Hill and Ned took several more drinks from the brown bottle. Fortunately for Austin and the children Wilbur was not drinking at all.

They had not gone far when Austin allowed his wagon to strike against a stone. Unfortunately it was the injured wheel that received this jolt, and it gave way. Here was a worse predicament than the first accident had been, for the wagon could not go at all. They unloaded one of the other wagons and reloaded it with the things from the one Austin was driving. It took some time to do all this, especially since half the men were almost past helping; already it was late. Mr. Hill had now come to the disagreeable stage of drunkenness and was furiously angry at this delay, especially because it had been Austin who had occasioned it. He did not think it best to vent his anger upon his son, so took it out upon the team. Talking loudly and swearing profusely, he stepped up to one of the horses and gave it a smart kick. This blow was unexpected by the animal and entirely uncalled for, and was spitefully resented—no sooner had the blow fallen on the horse's side than it wheeled and kicked back viciously. The blow struck the man on the thigh, and he gave a loud yell of pain. The pain was as severe as if the leg had been instantly broken by the contact, and no doubt that is what Mr. Hill thought had happened.

The children, already excited over the accidents, were now thrown into great alarm at the scream of pain from their father, and began to cry with fright. But Austin felt a wave of gratitude to the fiery old horse for punishing the foolish man.

"Hush, children! he is not seriously hurt, and the pain will sober him so that he can tell us where to go," said Austin with a good deal of inward satisfaction. As matters then were he had gone as far as he could without further directions, and his father was past giving any sensible orders. It had begun to look as if they must camp on the prairie till the man could sober up.

The boys helped the wounded man into his wagon and made him as comfortable as they could with some pillows and a bed-quilt, and went on with their work. Austin's guess had been right, for by the time the boys were ready to start on, Mr. Hill was able to tell them where to go.

The accidents had hindered the little caravan so much that they did not reach their destination till long after dark. They were to camp that night in the yard of the man for whom they were to work, and it was very late when they drove in and gave the customary call. Mr. Jenkins came to his door and in a few minutes was out in the yard with them. Will and Austin were out of their wagons and explaining how they had been delayed. Mr. Jenkins looked about in some perplexity.

"Where is Hill, the man I contracted the work to?" he asked. "Father is yonder in the wagon. He had an accident on the way and is not able to get out of the wagon by himself," explained Will.

Mr. Jenkins walked around to where Ned and Mr. Hill were nodding drunkenly, and turning to the boys he said, "Been drinking I guess." The boys said nothing, for both of them were heartily ashamed of their father's condition.

Mr. Jenkins, who had a kinder heart than tongue, said some very hard things that night to the stupid men, but helped the boys to get them off the wagons and into bed.

"If a man has no respect for himself, he ought to have some for his children. Think of your dad being out with his little girls on a trip like this and getting into such a condition," stormed their host. The boys made little reply, for nothing they could say could mend matters nor make them less mean. As for Henry Hill, he was past all feeling or consideration, being as stupid as if he were not a man at all. He hardly knew when he was placed in his bed.

There was little room in the ranch-house, and beds had to be piled upon the floors of some empty bins in the barn. Here the weary children were soon in sweet, forgetful sleep. When Austin lay down to rest, with his little sisters sleeping near by, he thought soberly and earnestly. His lot had been cast among the wicked, but by the grace of God he meant to make the best of it anyway, and do what he could for the little ones. It was hard to have as kind a feeling toward his father as a Christian should, but he was able to conquer himself and keep peace in his soul. Never will he forget the battle he fought that night with apprehensions, discouragements, and evil feelings toward his parent. Lying there in the dusty granary with the mice scampering about, he prayed, "O God, give me grace to feel toward Father as I should. Help me in the coming weeks to always do right. Show me how to protect the children, and forgive me for consenting to bring them on such a hazardous journey."



CHAPTER 18

SIX WEEKS OF HAYING

Morning came at last, bringing light and warmth, and the children were up and ready for the remainder of their journey. Mr. Hill and Ned were sober now, and luckily the bottle was empty. They were very cross and out of sorts from the effects of their drinking, but able to help with the work. Mr. Hill could limp about on his injured leg, and so they were soon off to their first camp.

At last they drove to the place that Mr. Hill had previously chosen to set up camp, and soon the tent was up and the stove ready for the fire, and the few cooking-utensils in place. While part of the company were doing this, one man had already gone to the field, and the sound of the mower, as it cut the fragrant grasses, came in a merry tune to their ears.

Since the brown bottle that had caused them so much grief on their journey was empty, things went on very smoothly in camp. The girls did very well with the cooking, with Austin's ever-ready help when they were in perplexity. Everything took on a more hopeful air.

"I am not going to work today, Father," said Austin quietly the first Sunday morning.

"Not going to work! Are you sick? What is the matter with you?" gruffly answered his father.

"This is Sunday, the day set for worship, and I wish to have it for study and prayer even if I can not go to church."

"We have no time for sentiment here. This work must be done in the quickest time possible. We are all going to work today the same as any other day," said Mr. Hill decidedly.

"Do not count me in for today. I shall not work," said his son just as decidedly.

Henry Hill looked at his son in a puzzled manner. He wanted to force him to do as he had bidden him, but he remembered another time when Austin had said just as decidedly that he would not do as he had been told, and the consequence of trying to use force. So without a word he turned about and went on to his work.

Austin thought a principle was at stake in this. His father had no sympathy with his desire to serve God and would have been glad to hinder him from careful obedience. If he gave in to ignore what he thought to be the teaching of the Word and to ignore the dictates of his own conscience in working on Sunday while he was here in the hay-field, he could not hope to have freedom in service to God in other things. He remembered how his first pastor had warned him to be bold and fearless in his home in serving God and he would keep the victory. When Mr. Hill had gone out, Austin helped the girls get their morning work done and dinner planned, then with his Bible in hand he strolled off to the shade of a hay-stack and spent a profitable season in study and prayer. The days had been so full that he had had little opportunity for communion with God during the week, and this was very refreshing to his soul.

"I see where you have the best of us," said Ned at the dinner-hour, "for you get a day's rest, and we do not."

"My team and I can work all the better tomorrow for our rest today," said Austin with conviction. "My father will lose nothing by my keeping Sunday. Man and beast need one day of rest out of the seven on a job like this."

Austin was to see many trying places where neither his father nor his brother would be any help to him in his service to God, and it is well for his future progress that he learned right at the first to stand by his convictions. But it is not more true in his case than in the case of every young Christian. Those who will stand faithful in the tests of life are the ones who gain the crown at last. While it is true that God has promised to keep his children in the most trying circumstances, it is also true that the child must put his trust wholly in God and live obediently. The Christian can go through any dark place and endure any hardness if he keeps a firm trust in God and, his purpose strong and true, but he will falter in the smallest trials if he is not firm.

The young Christian need not hope to be always surrounded by those who are in sympathy with his religious life, but each must learn to serve God in spite of circumstances and surroundings. And the service of God is not a thing to be hidden away. If a man is a Christian, he will show it out every day. It will make a difference in his whole life. There will in all that he does and says be an influence for God and good. This is especially true of the young man who is thrown among those who are sinful and rough. The difference in the tone of his life and theirs is a constant reproof to sin that will, as in the case of Austin and his father, bring embarrassment to the sinner.

The days moved by in quick succession, with very little variation in the order of the day's work. They rose early and worked late. Three meals a day were waiting for them in the tent, prepared by the faithful little cooks. Only on Sunday was there a variation in the routine, and on that day Austin refused to go to the field at all.

The hay had been finished around the first camp and they had moved back to another good center, only in a few days to move again. Now they had come to their last camp, which was but ten miles from town. Another week or ten days would let them out of their job and they could go home, but often the last week is the longest week when one is isolated. Austin longed to be back to his Sunday-school and to meet again with the congregation at the little chapel.

"Father," he asked on Saturday evening before the sixth Sunday out, "may I have a horse to ride to town tomorrow?"

"What do you want to go to town for? We are not especially needing anything," ungraciously replied his father.

"Tomorrow is Sunday and one team will be idle. I want to get back to my Sunday-school class and to meet with the people in church once more. I will not ride fast if you will let me have a horse."

"No, you can not have a horse. I have them out here for work, not to run about," snapped the man.

Austin said no more and went quietly back to his reading. Mr. Hill thought he had scored a victory and felt elated accordingly, but Austin was only waiting to consider what his duty might be. In the morning he rose before day and prepared himself for a journey. He took nothing to hinder his progress, but with his Bible under his arm he set out for town. If he had no bad luck, he could get a part of the Sunday-school and all the preaching service.

"Where is Austin?" asked his father at the breakfast-table, for his place was vacant.

"He started for town before we were up. He wants to get there in time for church," said Amy.

"Ten miles to church. That is a record and no mistake," laughed Ned. Wilbur and his father joined him in the merriment, but Mr. Hill felt a twinge of conscience. "I might have let him have a horse if he was so determined to go," he said.

"I wonder how Austin made it this morning. Wonder if he will be back for work tomorrow," remarked Wilbur at the dinner-table.

Austin was entirely unmindful of these remarks. He walked the full ten miles to town and arrived in time for about half the Sunday-school. He was too late to teach his boys, but promised to be with them the next Sunday. He went out to the house and rested during the afternoon and remained in town for the night service. He rose early the next morning and started back to his work, but this time he did not have to walk the whole way.

"Good morning, Parson, want a ride?" a cheery voice called. Austin looked up, a little abashed at being addressed as Parson, but glad for the offer.

"Thank you, sir, I should be glad to ride," he said, climbing in.

"I took you for a parson when I saw that book under your arm, but you look too young for the part," said the man looking at him curiously.

"No, I am not a preacher, but a hay-hand from Jenkin's ranch. I walked in to church yesterday, and am just getting back this morning."

"You are more serious about such things than some people I know, to walk that far to hear a sermon," laughed the man.

"Perhaps, but I find it worth being serious about," good-naturedly replied Austin.

The ride carried him within a short distance of his work, and he was ready to be in his place when the grass was dry enough to cut. He felt none the worse for his journey, and greatly refreshed in spirit for having met with the people of God.

Before the week was out they had finished the last acre of cutting, and topped the last stack. It was a thankful family of sunburned people who retraced their steps to their home at the edge of town.



CHAPTER 19

INDECISION AND RESTLESSNESS

It was now the middle of November, and the children were not yet in school. Austin's first duty after coming back from the hay-fields was to get them ready and started in for the rest of the winter. He himself would have to work every day to help with the support of the family. No time now for him to think of going to school, but the younger five should have a better opportunity than he had been given. Such was his vow as he started them off the next Monday morning. The children were delighted to be back in Sunday-school and to begin their school-year. The time spent in the opens had greatly increased their appreciation of home.

But troubles were ahead. The warfare between Austin and his father waged harder than ever. They had no common point of contact in their natures. Austin had a clear, definite conception of duty and right, while his father's conception of such things was unusually dim and vague. Austin not only saw and understood his own duty, but he saw with equal clearness his father's duty. Though he was not a boy to nag, yet so strong was his personality that his displeasure was keenly felt. Thus Henry Hill felt continually under criticism. He was lashed for every slip and lapse from duty by the unspoken condemnation of this clear-eyed, strong-souled son of his, and made extremely uncomfortable.

Austin was almost as restless as his father. He had continually to fight a disgust and hatred that should have no part in a Christian's emotions. And he longed to be of service in the world. It was the call of youth in his veins that stirred these restless longings, but Austin had no one to explain this to him. It is not nature that a boy should settle down to carry a man's responsibilities, and any boy who has it to do will either become a drudge or will suffer with restless longings that can hardly be controlled.

"I am out of work again and do not know where in these parts I can get the kind I want. While you are here to stay with the children, I believe I will get out and look around a while. Maybe I can locate something more suitable in another town," said Henry Hill to his son one day.

It was the same old story. Restlessness, dissatisfaction, wanderlust, irresponsibility, shirking of duty. Austin's lips curled just a little in scorn before he answered his father.

"Better get you a steady job here and settle down and keep the children in school. Even if you can not get just what you might want, you can have plenty of good-paying work, and be at home. Something brought in every week for the support of the children is needed here more than anything else."

"I can not see my way clear to do that, Austin. While I am sticking with a poor job here, the very kind I want might be getting away from me. The thing to do in a case like this is to get out and hustle and find what you want," reasoned the father.

"Well, as you will. But I shall need help to get on with the children. I can not do my duty by them and yet fully support them."

"Do not worry about that. I usually keep up my part of everything," said the father.

But he went away leaving practically nothing with Austin for the care of the children, and he was not seen in those parts again. Occasional letters came from him, and sometimes a little money accompanied these letters, but for the most part it was the labors of Austin's hands that kept the wolf from the door.

It was the beginning of winter, the season when household expenses are the highest, and it was a hard struggle for the boy to carry the whole load all the weary weeks. The care of the children also was great. The irresponsible nature of their father ruled in some of their natures, and to Austin it at times seemed there was no use trying to make good citizens of them. But he remembered his mother and how hard she would have struggled to keep them together, and what efforts she would have made to bring them up right, and for her sake he struggled on. He hoped for nothing from the older boys, for they paid little attention to him and the children.

"Is Hill about anywhere?" asked a rough voice at the door.

"No, sir, he is not at home. Is there anything I can do for you!" asked Austin politely.

"No, perhaps not. I wanted to see him. He justly owes me a sum of money, and as I am needing it now I wanted to see if he would come across with it," answered the man gruffly.

Austin had not known of any such debt and now inquired of his caller until he had the man's side of the story. Later he investigated the matter until he was satisfied that it was a just debt. His father had left in his care a few hogs, and their sale would pay the debt and leave a little over. Austin was confident that his father would never come back and had intended not to pay the debt at all. He did not want such a blot on the family name, so determined to sell the hogs and pay the debt.

This he did, writing his father of the transaction, and receiving in reply a scorching reproof for his forwardness. He could not hope to be in his father's good graces for a long time after this deed. "If he does not want straight dealing, he had better not leave his business in my hands," was Austin's mental comment as he read the letter. Austin was free also at this time in writing very pointedly to his father of the family needs and to insist that more money should be forthcoming to meet current expenses. He had none of those lofty feelings that had stirred his young breast when he worked in Mr. Long's garden. He felt that he was being imposed upon.

At last the father sent the word that he had located the good job and was now ready for the family. He told Austin to dispose of the household goods and bring the children as soon as he could. But there was nothing to cheer Austin in doing this. It meant only another few months in a strange locality and then on again somewhere else. The only way for his father to settle down at all seemed to be for him to have the full responsibility of the children where he could not get away. Austin determined to give him a new lesson.

He disposed of the household goods, packed the bedding and things to be taken to the new home, and, putting the children on the train, sent them to their father; and he staid on with his work, for he had a good place. The children were unwilling for this, but Austin's patience had worn out, and he felt he could not carry his father's burden any farther.

Henry Hill was quite chagrined at the turn Austin had taken. He did not suppose the boy would leave the children again. But there was nothing else to do but take his load and carry it. Those weeks of waiting during the winter had been fruitful in the hearts of his children in developing in them all a genuine disregard for their father. Austin had not the ability of his mother to lead the children away from him and his influence. He had been so vexed with his father's behavior that he had lent an influence of disrespect to the children. Now that they were under their father's government, they grew every week more unruly and disobedient to him. He had no control over them. Even his dull eyes saw the danger into which Amy and Nell were drifting in the careless, unrestrained way they were taking. So in his helplessness he could only turn to Austin. Writing him something of his difficulties, he said: "I shall have to give up housekeeping entirely if you can not come, for the girls will get into trouble. They need some one over them who can manage them. They will not obey me at all."

It had been a number of weeks since he had sent the children away, and in that time Austin had been far from happy. He felt that he was not doing his duty, yet he could not under existing circumstances feel that he should take the entire care and support of the children. But this S. O. S. aroused him to a knowledge of the present duty, and he went directly home.

The change which had taken place in the children in the weeks he had been absent amazed him. There had been something about their new environments that had developed the worst that was in them. They now lived in town, and the girls had been running about at their will. They had fallen in with companions who were not doing them any good, and at the present rate of speed would soon be past any control at all.

Austin took up the home cares as well as he could, though with a sinking heart. He was terribly alone and helpless. And again he was plucked up from his church-home, a sheep out on the barren mountains, it seemed to him. And in looking ahead he could see nothing bright to work toward. But he did not lose hold of the throne of God and did not forget to seek comfort and strength in prayer. And God helped him in those days.