"Have you heard, this morning, how your father is?" Dick inquired.
"Just heard, at the post-office," Hinman answered. "My father had a very bad day yesterday. Er—-in fact, the chances, I am sorry to say, appear to be very much against his recovery."
"He must feel the strain of his father's illness," observed Dave sarcastically.
"He does!" retorted Mr. Hartshorn, with emphasis. "If old Reuben dies young Timothy must go to work for a living. The disgrace of toil will almost kill him. His two sisters are as bad as he is. They've never done a stroke of work, either. All three have lived on the poor old peddler's earnings all their lives, though not one of the three would be willing to keep the old man's house for him. There are a lot of sons and daughters like them to-day. Perhaps there always have been."
Mr. Hartshorn waited until Dick and Dave had finished with the purchases and had loaded them on the wagon.
Then the farmer shook hands with each member of Dick & Co.
"I'm coming up to Gridley to see the football game this Thanksgiving," he promised. "I hope I'll see as good a game as I did last year. Anyway, I'll see the work of a mighty fine lot of young fellows."
Prescott expressed again the heartiest thanks of himself and friends for the timely aid given them during the trouble in camp.
"We've lost so much time this morning that we'll have to hustle for the rest of the day," Tom called down from the wagon seat, as he started the horse.
An hour later they were more than three miles past Fenton.