“How did your father get his start in the world?” asked Bob; “wasn’t it by going to sea, and saving his money?”
“Yes, but that’s too slow work. Besides, we all have different talents, you know. You were made to be a sailor; so was your father before you; but I was cut out for a farmer; and I’m going to be one, too. Goodnight, Bob; I must go.”
“I’ve found the very business at last,” said Tom to himself, as he walked homeward. “A hundred and five thousand dollars a year, and nothing to do but ride around on horseback and look at your property. Isn’t that glorious! Wouldn’t I feel proud if I could see so many cattle and sheep feeding in one of my fields, and could say: ‘They’re all mine! They’re worth a hundred and five thousand dollars?’ Whew! I’m bound to be a farmer.”
CHAPTER XII.
TOM’S NEW HOME.
TOM was so full of his glorious ideas for the future, that he could scarcely sleep at all that night; and, when he did, he dreamed of droves of cattle, prancing horses, and sheep without number.
Morning came at length, and, contrary to his usual custom, he was up at daylight; but he had six long hours to employ in some manner before he could see Mr. Hayes, for the latter would not reach the village before ten o’clock. He passed the time until breakfast in walking about the yard, enjoying the bright prospect before him, and then he went down to his father’s office, where he impatiently awaited the arrival of the farmer. The hours seemed lengthened into weeks; and, so impatient was Tom, that he could neither sit still, nor stand still, even for a moment. He would walk once or twice across the office, then run out into the street and closely scrutinize every wagon within the range of his vision, all the while saying to himself: “Now, I wonder what keeps that man? He ought to have been here an hour ago!” Half-past ten came at length, and with it arrived the farmer, perched upon his heavily-loaded wagon, his face all wrinkled up with smiles, as if he felt well satisfied with the world and every body in it, himself in particular. Tom did not wonder that he was always laughing; when he owned a farm, and four fine horses, he would laugh too.
The farmer stopped his team in front of the office, and, as he sprang down from his wagon, he was met by Mr. Newcombe, who, leading him off on one side, held a long and earnest conversation with him, while Tom stood by almost bursting with impatience. At length the farmer approached him, and, as Tom grasped his huge hand, he almost shouted—