His Family Ernest Poole (top ten books of all time .txt) 📖

looking over a picture book. Quietly Roger watched the girl.

“What are you going to be?” he asked. “A woman’s college president, a surgeon or a senator? And what will your mother think of you then?”

They changed cars, and on a train made up of antiquated coaches they wound through a side valley, down which rushing and tumbling came the river that bore Roger’s name. He went into the smoking car, and presently George joined him there. George did not yet smoke, (with his elders), but he had bought a package of gum and he was chewing absorbedly. Plainly the lad was excited over the great existence which he saw opening close ahead. Roger glanced at the boy’s broad shoulders, noticed the eager lines of his jaw, looked down at his enormous hands, unformed as yet, ungainly; but in them was a hungriness that caused a glow in Roger’s breast. One more of the family starting out.

“It’s all going to depend on you,” Roger gravely counseled. “Your whole life will depend on the start you make. Either you’re going to settle down, like so many of your neighbors up there, or you’re going to hustle, plan out your day, keep on with your studies and go to college⁠—the State Agricultural College, I mean. In short, keep up to date, my boy, and become in time a big figure in farming.”

“I’m going to do it,” George replied. His grandfather glanced again at his face, so scowling, so determined. And a gleam of compassion and yearning came for a moment in Roger’s eyes. His heavy hand lay on George’s knee.

“That’s right, son,” he grunted. “Make the family proud of you. I’ll do all I can to help you start. My business is picking up, thank God, and I’ll be able to back you now. I’ll stay up here a good part of the summer. We’ve both of us got a lot to learn⁠—and not only from books⁠—we want to remember we’ve plenty to learn from the neighbors, too. Take old Dave Royce, for instance, who when all is said and done has worked our farm for twenty odd years and never once run me into debt.”

“But, Gee!” demurred George. “He’s so ’way out of date!”

“I know he is, son, but we’ve got to go slow.” And Roger’s look passed furtively along the faces in the car. “We don’t want to forget,” he warned, “that this is still New England. Every new idea we have we want to go easy with, snake it in.”

“I’ve got an awful lot of ’em,” the boy muttered hungrily.

At the farm, the next morning at daybreak, Roger was awakened by the sound of George’s voice. It was just beneath his window:

“But cattle are only part of it, Dave,” the boy declared, in earnest tones, “just part of what we can have up here. Think what we’ve got⁠—over three hundred acres! And we want to make every acre count! We want to get in a whole lot more of hogs⁠—Belted Hampshires, if we can afford ’em⁠—and a couple of hundred hens. White Leghorns ought to fill the bill. Of course that’s just a starter. I’ve got a scheme for some incubators⁠—electric⁠—run by the dynamo which we’ll put in down by the dam. And we can do wonders with bees, too, Dave⁠—I’ve got a book on ’em I’d like you to read. And besides, there’s big money in squab these days. Rich women in New York hotels eat thousands of ’em every night. And ducks, of course, and turkeys. I’d like a white gobbler right at the start, if we knew where we could get one cheap.” The voice broke off and there was a pause. “We can do an awful lot with this place.”

Then Dave’s deep drawl:

“That’s so, George⁠—yes, I guess that’s so. Only we don’t want to fool ourselves. That ain’t Noah’s Ark over thar⁠—it’s a barn. And just for a starter, if I was you⁠—” Here Dave deliberated. “Of course it’s none of my business,” he said, “it’s for you and your grandfather to decide⁠—and I don’t propose to interfere in what ain’t any of my affair⁠—”

“Yes, yes, Dave, sure! That’s all right! But go on! What, just for a starter?”

“Cows,” came the tranquil answer. “I’ve been hunting around since you wrut me last month. And I know of three good milkers⁠—”

“Three? Why, Dave, I wrote we want thirty or forty!”

“Yes⁠—you wrut,” Dave answered. “But I’ve druv all around these parts⁠—and there ain’t but three that I can find. And I ain’t so sure of that third one. She looks like she might⁠—” George cut in.

“But you only had a buggy, Dave! Gee! I’m going to have a Ford!”

“That so, George?”

“You bet it’s so! And we’ll go on a cow hunt all over the State!”

“Well⁠—I dunno but what you’re right,” Dave responded cautiously. “You might get more cows if you had a Ford⁠—an’ got so you could run it. Yes, I guess it’s a pretty good scheme. I believe in being conservative, George⁠—but I dunno now but what a Ford⁠—”

Their voices passed from under the window, and Roger relaxed and smiled to himself. It was a good beginning, he thought.

They bought a Ford soon afterwards and in the next few weeks of June they searched the farms for miles around, slowly adding to their herd. To Roger’s surprise he found many signs of a new life stirring there⁠—the farmers buying “autos” and improved machinery, thinking of new processes; and down in the lower valleys they found several big stock farms which were decidedly modern affairs. At one such place, the man in charge took a fancy to George and asked him to drop over often.

“You bet I’ll drop over often!” George replied, as he climbed excitedly into his Ford. “I want to see more of those milking machines! We’re going to have ’em some day ourselves! A dynamo too!”

And at home, down by the ruined mill he again set about rebuilding the dam.

Roger felt himself growing stronger. His