“That,” said Mr. Stanley, “is exactly what I've always said, but I didn't know it was in any book. I always said I didn't want to be a senator or a legislator, or any other sort of office-holder. It's good enough for me right here on this farm.”
At that moment I glanced down into Ben's shining eyes.
“But I want to be a senator or—something—when I grow up,” he said eagerly.
At this the older brother, who was sitting not far off, broke into a laugh, and the boy, who for a moment had been drawn out of his reserve, shrank back again and coloured to the hair.
“Well, Ben,” said I, putting my hand on his knee, “don't you let anything stop you. I'll back you up; I'll vote for you.”
After breakfast the next morning Mr. Stanley drew me aside and said:
“Now I want to pay you for your help yesterday and the day before.”
“No,” I said. “I've had more than value received. You've taken me in like a friend and brother. I've enjoyed it.”
So Mrs. Stanley half filled my knapsack with the finest luncheon I've seen in many a day, and thus, with as pleasant a farewell as if I'd been a near relative, I set off up the country road. I was a little distressed in parting to see nothing of the boy Ben, for I had formed a genuine liking for him, but upon reaching a clump of trees which hid the house from the road I saw him standing in the moist grass of a fence corner.
“I want to say good-bye,” he said in the gruff voice of embarrassment.