George was delighted with it, but Arthur did not like it at all, and told himself over and over again that he would make his way back to Bolton just as soon as he could induce his father to give him money enough to take him there.
There was no fun in sleeping on the hard ground every night. The tent which he thought ought to be devoted to the exclusive use of himself and his father, was crowded every night, all the strangers they encountered on the way (roughly-dressed, loud-talking fellows they were, whose words and actions seemed to indicate that they were spoiling for a fight) being given a hearty welcome and urged to make themselves perfectly at home; and he had so much to say about the food that was served up to him, that he finally exhausted all the patience of Mr. Evans, who one day took him to task in the following style:
“Young man,” said he, shaking a piece of hardtack at Arthur, “I have traveled a good deal, spent some years in the army, associated with all sorts and kinds of people, and I have always noticed one thing—that those who never have anything worth eating at home are the very ones who growl the loudest at what is set before them when they are away from home.”
Arthur would have been glad to make an angry reply to this merited rebuke, but something in the clear brown eye that was fastened upon his own told him that it would not be quite safe to do so.
Both he and his father took the hint, and from that time forward conducted themselves like reasonable beings.
The result was just what might have been expected. Mr. Evans became more sociable and communicative, and instead of following behind the wagon, as he had formerly done, he rode beside it, patiently answering all Uncle Bob’s questions and trying his best to enlighten him on every subject on which he sought information.
The latter was astonished at his knowledge, and could hardly believe his nephew when the latter told him that those rough clothes covered a Yale College graduate.
While Mr. Evans was devoting himself to the senior member of the party, Arthur was not neglected. As soon as he threw off his assumed dignity—which did not set well on him, anyway—George and Bob met him half-way, and the latter, having come to the sensible conclusion that it was useless to fight against the inevitable, went to work to place himself on friendly terms with his cousin.
He gave him his horse when he saw that he was tired of riding in the wagon, took pains to direct his attention to all the interesting objects along the trail, and showed him his new home while they were yet ten hours’ journey distant from it.
“What a grand view this is!” exclaimed Arthur, as he drew rein on the brink of a frightful precipice and gazed down into the valley below him.