The Hero of Hill House

by Mabel Hale

“Austin is as steady and reliable as a little old man,” said his uncle after one of his visits. “He manages things over there as well as many an older person could.”

“How a father could put so much on a mere child is a mystery,” said some of the neighbor women.

“I would hate to be tied to a kitchen and a row of babies like he is,” was his cousin Frank’s opinion.

But of all these comments Austin was ignorant, nor did he think he was doing anything brave. He was doing the one thing that would keep the children together, and was encouraged with the thought that his mother was pleased with him, for it seemed to him that she knew.

Though Henry Hill was a selfish man, he often thought of his children while away, but stifled every remorseful thought with the assurance that Austin was taking good care of them. He assured himself that they were getting along as well as if an older person were with them; and this was true, for in the month that he was away, nothing of enough importance for comment occurred. The days went by as evenly as if the father had been there. But if Henry Hill thought that his mind would be more settled by his absence, he was disappointed; for as soon as he was again in sight of the house, the old loathing of the place attacked him. He longed to be away from it all forever. And when a man has all his life given way to his own personal impulses rather than stand by his duty, you need not expect him to brace up at a time like this and do his part.

From the point of reasoning which Mr. Hill took he was justifiable in feeling as he did. Everything about the little farmhouse reminded him of the woman he had loved. He never came to the house without a pang of painful loneliness at her absence. He felt himself incapable of caring for the children. She had always done that, and he did not know what they needed nor why. It would be better both for him and the children to be away from this dreary, grief-laden spot. But he could not take the children with him, and what would he do with them if he did? But there was Austin. Why should he feel tied to the children when Austin was willing to look after them? The thing to do was to get out and find a more suitable place, leaving Austin to look after home and the little ones.

But it would be pretty hard to leave so many children on one boy. The neighbors would have a great deal to say. Maybe he had better get a place for some of them. But where could he find a place? Why, to be sure—why had he not thought of that before?—he would take Lila and Doyle to his mother’s, and Austin could manage the rest. That was just the thing, and no one could find fault with the arrangement, at least no one who knew Austin. And reasoning thus, he had his plans all made before he mentioned them. The sunny, pleasant days of spring had come, and the air was balmy and sweet with the perfume of blossoms, making the vagrant soul of Henry Hill sick with wanderlust, and he could hardly wait to put his plans into action.

“Austin, I believe I shall take Lola and Doyle out to your grandmother’s, and try to get work there,” he said one morning at the breakfast-table. “You can stay on here with the other children, and can get along very well if I am gone all summer. It will make it easier for you if I have the little ones.”

Austin’s chin dropped, and he looked at his father in blank amazement. Surely he had heard wrong. He started to protest, but another suggestion stopped him. “If I refuse, he will take all the children away, and we shall have no home; that would grieve Mother,” mused the boy. Because Austin hesitated in answering, his father continued to explain his plan. “If I find a good job I shall get a house and send for the rest of you children and we shall live near your grandmother and uncles. I believe we can do better there than here.” And having said this, he waited for Austin to speak.

“Yes, I suppose we could manage to get along a while,” the boy said, choking a little. How lonely and bare his path looked before him he could not explain, and intuition told him it would be useless for him to try to do so. His father seemed to forget that he was lonely too, and missed the gentle mother.