“Oh, Tom!” Esther broke in, anxiously, “would you do that?”
He held up his hand with a quiet, masterful gesture, as if she were the pupil and he the teacher, “Tell him,” he went on, the tone falling now strong and true, “tell him and ma that I'm goin' to Tecumseh to-night to enlist. If they're willin' to say good-by, they can let me know there, and I'll manage to slip back for the day. If they ain't willin'—why, they—they needn't send word; that's all.”
Esther had come up to him, and held his arm now in hers.
“You're wrong to leave them like that!” she pleaded, earnestly, but Jeff shook his head.
“You don't know him!” was all he said.
In another minute I had shaken hands with Jeff, and had started on my homeward way, with his parting “Good-by, youngster!” benumbing my ears. When, after a while, I turned to look back, they were still standing where I had left them, gazing over the bank into the water.
Then, as I trudged onward once more, I began to quake at the thought of how Farmer Beech would take the news.