“But I do. I want him to be happy. We'll let him board in Fallon the rest of the year. The butter and egg money will be enough to carry him through. It won't cost much. If we don't send him, he'll run away. I know him. He's my boy, and your son, Martin. I won't see him suffer in a strange world, learning his lessons from bitter experiences. I want him to be taken care of.” “Very well, have it as you say. I'm not putting anything in the way. I thought this was his home, but I see it isn't. It isn't a prison. He can go, and good luck go with him.” And after a long silence: “He would tear down this farm--the best in the county! Tear it down--board from board!” IX. MARTIN'S SON SHAKES OFF THE DUST THE very next day, Mrs. Wade rented a room for Bill in the same home in which Rose boarded, and for the rest of the winter she and Martin went on as before--working as hard as ever and making money even faster, while peace settled over their household, a peace so profound that, in her more intuitive moments, Bill's mother felt in it an ominous quality. The storm broke with the summer vacation and the boy's point-blank refusal to return to farm work. His father laid down an ultimatum: until he came home he should not have a cent even from his mother, and home he should not come, at all, until he was willing to carry his share of the farm work willingly, and without further argument. “You see,” he pointed out to his wife, “that's the thanks I get for managing along without him this winter. The ungrateful young rascal! If he doesn't come to his senses shortly--” “Oh, Martin, don't do anything rash,” implored Mrs. Wade. “Nearly all boys go through this period. Just be patient with him.” But even she was shaken when his Aunt Nellie, over ostensibly for an afternoon of sociable carpet-rag sewing, began abruptly: “Do you know what Bill is doing, Rose?” “Working in the mines,” returned his mother easily. “Isn't it strange, Nellie, that he should be digging coal right under this farm, the very coal that gave Martin his start?” “Well, I'm not going to beat about the bush,” continued her sister-in-law abruptly. “He's working in the mines all right, but he isn't digging coal at all, though that would be bad enough. I wouldn't say a word about it, but I think you ought to know the truth and put a stop to such a risky business--he's firing shots.” Rose's heart jumped, but she continued to wind up her large ball with the same uninterrupted motion. “Are you sure?” “I made Frank find out for certain. It's an extra dangerous mine because gas forms in it unusually often, and he gets fifteen dollars a day for the one hour he works. There's a contract, but he's told them he's twenty-one, and when you prove he's under age they'll make him stop.” Rose still wound and wound, her clear eyes, looking over her glasses, fixed on Nellie.