“The farm won’t be the same for any of us after you go away. I never had any boys of my own; I always wanted them and it seems to me now I feel the want of them more than ever, because I see how nice a nice boy really is.”
“I never was accused of being a nice boy by my best friends,” cried Brydell, laughing but pleased. “Ask Aunt Emeline what she thinks of me.”
As for Minna, every mention of Brydell’s leaving was met by her throwing her arms around his neck and pleading, “You won’t go away and leave me?” Brydell partially gained her consent to go, on promising that he would send her chests full of magnificent things and a dolly as big as herself.
Toward the last of the summer he got a letter from his father. It was very kind and affectionate, and almost humble in tone.
“I feel that I have erred through my tenderness for you,” he wrote; “but I hope that you have experienced the worst you will have to undergo of the effects of my fondness. I do not know what you are doing now, and shall wait eagerly to hear, but I rely upon your manliness and uprightness to carry you through.”
Brydell’s reply to this letter was a very cheerful one.
One day in the autumn, as Brydell in his blue overalls was driving an ox-wagon loaded with fodder down the lane, he suddenly caught sight of a trim military old figure standing at the gate, with another rather slouchy one, and the next minute he recognized Admiral Beaumont’s hearty laugh.
The admiral was highly amused at the spectacle his young friend presented, mounted on a load of hay, while Billy Bowline grinned appreciatively at the sight. Brydell was delighted to see his old friend and, noticing that his employment as teamster seemed to afford the admiral great diversion, he cried out:—
“Delighted to see you, admiral! Just let me get my team through this gate and I’ll jump down and shake hands with you. Gee, buck!”
“Ha, ha!” roared the admiral. “You haven’t sea room enough, my young friend, in which to manœuvre that craft. You’ll foul that gatepost as sure as a gun.”