The youth had not even gone to bed. He had been sitting on a chair by the open window when he had heard his uncle coming upstairs, and to deceive his relative had jumped into bed and pulled the blanket up over him. When Nat was thrust up the stairs his mind was in a tumult. He felt that his uncle was not treating him fairly--and he wanted his supper very much. It is bad enough to have a real grievance of any kind--it is worse when one must bear it on an empty stomach. As he made his way to his room the boy was in a savage humor and fit to do almost any deed. "Uncle Abner is getting worse every day!" he muttered to himself. "He treats me worse than I would treat a dog!" Sitting by the open window Nat thought of many things--of the death of his parents, and of the taking off of his aunt--and of how his miserly uncle had treated him ever since. "It's not fair!" he told himself, over and over again. "Uncle Abner doesn't believe in giving a boy a fair show. I wish I lived with somebody else." The more he thought over the situation the more he felt that he ought not to stand such treatment. He felt that he was entitled to his supper, and also to some spending money if not to regular wages. At the present time he had not a cent in the world. "If I had a few dollars I might strike out for myself," he reasoned. "But I haven't even a few cents. Wonder how I could raise a few dollars?" As said before Nat's worldly possessions were few. In his room he had some trinkets from home and also an old silver watch which had belonged to his father. "I might sell the watch," he thought, but then decided that it would be best to keep the heirloom. Then he thought of Jennie, the white and brown cow. As a calf she had been given to Nat by his mother, and she was now a part of the herd on the Balberry farm. "Jennie ought to be worth twenty or twenty-five dollars," he said to himself. "That's a pile of money, for a start. Wonder how I could manage to sell her?" Thus speculating, Nat gradually drifted around to the point where he decided that he would leave the farm at once. He had told his uncle that he wanted his supper or he would not work for the man any more, and he meant to keep his word. By the time all was quiet around the house and he was certain both the housekeeper and his uncle had retired, Nat had settled just what he was going to do. Making no noise, he slipped off his working clothes and put on his best suit--something just a trifle better than the others. He also donned a clean shirt and collar and necktie and got out his best hat and shoes. Then, with his other possessions wrapped in a small bundle, and with his shoes under his arm, he tiptoed his way out of the bedchamber, along the hall, and down to the lower floor of the farmhouse.