't have treated me better if I'd lived
with him always."

Mr. Cobb cast a contemplative eye on the landscape, and, for a full
minute, he was silent. Then he turned again to Pen.

"I don't want to be curious or anything," he said; "but would you mind
telling me how much money the old gentleman gave you?"

"Not at all," was the prompt reply. "He gave me eighteen dollars."

"Good for him!" exclaimed the man. "He's got more good stuff in him
than I gave him credit for. I was afraid he might have given you only
a dollar or two, and I was going to lend you a little to help you out.
I will yet if you need it. I will any time you need it."

Henry Cobb was not prodigal with his money, but he was kind-hearted,
and he had seen enough of Pen to feel that he was taking no risk.

"You're very kind," replied the boy, "but grandpa's money will last me
a good while, and I shall get wages enough to keep me comfortably, and
I shall not need any more."

After a while Mr. Cobb's thoughts turned again to Grandpa Walker.

"He'll miss you terribly," he said to Pen. "He hasn't had so easy a
time in all his life before as he's had this spring, with you to do
all the farm chores and help around the house. It'll be like pulling
teeth for him to get into harness again."

Henry Cobb gave a little chuckle. He knew how fond Grandpa Walker was
of comfortable ease.

"Well," replied Pen, "I'm sorry to go, and leave him with all the work
to do; but you know how it is, Mr. Cobb."

"Yes, I know; I know. And you're going with splendid people. I've
known the Starbirds all my life. None better in the country."

They had reached the summit of the elevation overlooking the valley
that holds Chestnut Hill. Spring lay all about them in a riot of fresh
green. The world, to boyish eyes, had never before looked so fair, nor
had the present ever before been filled with brighter promises for the
future. But the morning ride, delightful as it had been, was drawing
to an end.

Coming from Cobb's Corners into Chestnut Hill you go down the Main
street past Bannerhall. Pen looked as he went by, but he saw no one
there. The lawn was rich with a carpet of fresh, young grass, the
crocus beds and the tulip plot were ablaze with color, and the
swelling buds that crowned the maples with a haze and halo of elusive
pink foretold the luxury of summer foliage. But no human being was in
sight. The street looked strange to Pen as they drove along; as
strange as though h