"Yes, Pen has something he wants to say to you."
The old man crossed over to the roadside fence and leaned on it. The announcement was ominous. He looked sharply at Pen.
"Well," he said. "I'm listenin'."
"Grandpa," began Pen, "I want you to be willing that I should take that job that Mr. Starbird spoke about to-day."
"So, that's it, is it? Ye've got the rovin' bee a buzzin' in your head, have ye? Don't ye know 't 'a rollin' stone gethers no moss'?"
"Well, grandpa, I'm not contented here. Not but what you're good enough to me, and all that, but I'm unhappy here. And I saw Mr. Starbird again this afternoon, and he said I could have that job."
"Think a job in a mill's better'n a job on a farm?"
"I think it is for me, grandpa."
"Work too hard for ye here?"
"Why, I'm not complaining about the work being hard. It's just because farm work does not suit me."