_ PART TWO CHAPTER I
David Dunne at eighteen was graduated from the high school in Lafferton after five colorless years in which study and farm work alternated. Throughout this period he had continued to incur the rancor of Jud, whose youthful scrapes had gradually developed into brawls and carousals. The Judge periodically extricated him from serious entanglements, and Barnabas continued optimistic in his expectations of a time when Jud should "settle." On one occasion Jud sneeringly accused David of "working the old man for a share in the farm," and taunted him with the fact that he was big enough and strong enough to hustle for himself without living on charity. David started on a tramp through the woods to face the old issue and decide his fate. He had then one more year before he could finish school and carry out a long-cherished dream of college.
He was at a loss to know just where to turn at the present time for a home where he could work for his board and attend school. The Judge and M'ri had gone abroad; Joe was on his ranch; the farmers needed no additional help.
He had been walking swiftly in unison with his thoughts, and when he came out of the woods into the open he was only a mile downstream from town. Upon the river bank stood Uncle Larimy, skillfully swirling his line.
"Wanter try yer luck, Dave?"
"I have no luck just now, Uncle Larimy," replied the boy sadly.
Uncle Larimy shot him a quick, sidelong glance.
"Then move on, Dave, and chase arter it. Thar's allers luck somewhar. Jest like fishin'. You can't set in one spot and wait for luck tew come to you like old Zeke Foss does. You must keep a-castin'."
"I don't know where to cast, Uncle Larimy."
Uncle Larimy pondered. He knew that Jud was home, and he divined David's trend of thought.
"You can't stick to a plank allers, Dave, ef you wanter amount tew anything. Strike out bold, and swim without any life presarvers. You might jest as well be a sleepy old cat in a corner as to go smoothsailin' through life."
"I feel that I have got to strike out, and at once, Uncle Larimy, but I don't just know where to strike."
"Wal, Dave, it's what we've all got to find out fer ourselves. It's a leap in the dark like, and ef you don't land nowhere, take another leap, and keep a-goin' somewhar."
David wended his way homeward, pondering over Uncle Larimy's philosophy. When he went with Barnabas to do the milking that night he broached the subject of leaving the farm.
"I know how Jud feels about my being here, Uncle Barnabas."
"What did he say to you?" asked the old man anxiously.
"Nothing. I overheard a part of your conversation. He is right. And if I stay here, he will run away to sea. He told the fellows in Lafferton he would."
"You are going to stay, Dave."
"You won't like to think you drove your son away. If he gets into trouble, both you and I will feel we are to blame."
"Dave, I see why the Jedge hez got it all cut out fer you to be a lawyer. You've got the argyin' habit strong. But you can't argue me into what I see is wrong. This is the place fer you to be, and Jud 'll hev to come outen his spell."
"Then let me go away until he does. You must give him every chance."
"Where'll you go?" asked Barnabas curiously.
"I don't know, yet," said the boy, "but I'll think out a plan to-night."
It was Jud, after all, who cut the Gordian knot, and made one of his welcome disappearances, which lasted until David was ready to start in college. His savings, that he had accumulated by field work in the summers and a very successful poultry business for six years, netted him four hundred dollars.
"One hundred dollars for each year," he thought exultantly. "That will be ample with the work I shall find to do."
Then he made known to his friends his long-cherished scheme of working his way through college. The Judge laughed.
"Your four hundred dollars, David, will barely get you through the first year. After that, I shall gladly pay your expenses, for as soon as you are admitted to the bar you are to come into my office, of course."
David demurred.
"I shall work my way through college," he said firmly.
He next told Barnabas of his intention and the Judge's offer which he had declined.
"I'm glad you refused, Dave. You'll only be in his office till you're ripe fer what I kin make you. I've larnt that the law is a good foundation as a sure steppin' stone tew it, so you kin hev a taste of it. But the Jedge ain't a-goin' to pay yer expenses."
"I don't mean that he shall," replied David. "I want to pay my own way."
"I'm a-goin' to send you tew college and send you right. No starvin' and garret plan fer you. I've let Joe and the Jedge do fer you as much as they're a-goin' to, but you're mine from now on. It's what I'd do fer my own son if he cared fer books, and you're as near to me ez ef you were my son."
"It's too much, Uncle Barnabas."
"And, David," he continued, unheeding the interruption, "I hope you'll really be my son some day."
A look of such exquisite happiness came into the young eyes that Barnabas put out his hand silently. In the firm hand-clasp they both understood.
"I am not going to let you help me through college, though, Uncle Barnabas. It has always been my dream to earn my own education. When you pay for anything yourself, it seems so much more your own than when it's a gift."
"Let him, Barnabas," again counseled Uncle Larimy. "Folks must feed diff'rent. Thar's the sweet-fed which must allers hev sugar, but salt's the savor for Dave. He's the kind that flourishes best in the shade."
Janey wrote to Joe of David's plan, and there promptly came a check for one thousand dollars, which David as promptly returned. _