"Anything you have for me to do, grandpa," replied Pen.

"I don't see's I can send ye to school."

"I'd rather not go to school. I'd rather work--do ch.o.r.es, anything."

"All right! I guess we can keep ye from rustin'. They's plenty to do, and I ain't so soople as I was at sixty."

He looked the embodiment of physical comfort, with his round, fresh face, and the fringe of gray whiskers under his chin, as he sat at ease in his big chair by the window, puffing lazily at his pipe.

So Pen stayed. There was no doubt but that he earned his keep. He did ch.o.r.es. He chopped wood. He brought water from the well. He fed the horse and the cows, the chickens and the pigs. He drove Old Charlie in the performance of any work requiring the a.s.sistance of a horse. He was busy from morning to night. He slept in a cold room, he was up before daylight, he was out in all kinds of weather, he did all kinds of tasks. There were sore muscles and aching bones, indeed, before he had hardened himself to his work; for physical labor was new to him; but he never shirked nor complained. Moreover he was treated kindly, he had plenty to eat, and he shared in whatever diversions the family could afford. Then, too, he had his mother to comfort him, to cheer him, to sympathize with him, and to be, ever more and more, his confidante and companion.

And Grandpa Walker, relieved of nearly all laborious activities about the place, much to his enjoyment, spent his time reading, smoking and dozing through the days of late winter and early spring, and discussing politics and big business in the country store at the cross-roads of an evening.

One afternoon, about the middle of March, as the old man was rousing himself from his after-dinner nap, two men drove up to the Walker homestead, tied their horse at the gate, came up the path to the house and knocked at the door. He, himself, answered the knock.

"Yes," he said in response to their inquiry, "I'm Enos Walker, and I'm to hum."

The spokesman of the two was a tall young man with a very black moustache and a merry twinkle in his eyes.

"We're glad to see you, Mr. Walker," he declared. "My name is Hubert Morrissey, and the gentleman who is with me is Mr. Frank Campbell.

We're on a hunting expedition."

"Perty late in the season fer huntin', ain't it? The law's on most everything now."

"I don't think the law's on what we're hunting for."

"What ye huntin' fer?"

"Spruce trees."

"Eh?"

"Spruce trees. Or, rather, one spruce tree."

"Well, ye wouldn't have to shoot so allfired straight to hit one in these parts. I've got a swamp full of 'em down here."

"So we understand. But we want a choice one."

"I've got some that can't be beat this side the White mountains."

"We've learned that also. We took the liberty of looking over your spruce grove on our way up here."

"Well; they didn't n.o.body hender ye, did they?"

"No. We found what we were looking for, all right."

"Jes' so. Come in an' set down."

Grandpa Walker moved ponderously from the doorway in which he had been standing, to his comfortable chair by the window, seated himself, picked up his pipe from the window-sill, filled it, lighted it and began puffing. The two men entered the room, closing the door behind them, and found chairs for themselves and occupied them. Then the conversation was renewed.

"We'll be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Walker," said Hubert Morrissey, "and tell you what we want and why we want it. It is proposed to erect a first-cla.s.s liberty-pole in the school-yard at Chestnut Hill. A handsome American flag has already been given to the school. The next thing in order of course is the pole. Mr. Campbell and I have been authorized to find a spruce tree that will fill the bill, buy it, and have it cut and trimmed and hauled to town while the snow is still on. It has to be dressed, seasoned, painted, and ready to plant by the time the frost goes out, and there isn't a day to lose. There, Mr. Walker, that is our errand."

"Jes' so. Found the tree did ye? down in my swamp?"

"We certainly did."

"Nice tree, is it? What ye was lookin' fer?"

"It's a beauty! Just what we want. I know it isn't just the thing to crack up the goods you're trying to buy from the other fellow, but we want to be perfectly fair with you, Mr. Walker. We want to pay you what the tree is worth. Suppose we go down the hill and look it over, and then you can doubtless give us your price on it."

"'Tain't ne'sary to go down an' look it over. I know the tree ye've got your eye on."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, sort o' guessed it. It's the one by the corner o' the rail fence on the fu'ther side o' the brook as ye go in from the road."

"That's a good guess. It's the very tree. Now then, what about the price?"

The old man pulled on his pipe for a moment with rather more than his usual vigor, then removed it from his mouth and faced his visitors.

"Want to buy that tree, do ye?" he asked.

"Sure we want to buy it."

"Cash down, jedgment note, or what?"

The man with the black moustache smiled broadly, showing an even row of white teeth.

"Cash down," he replied. "Gold, silver or greenbacks as you prefer.

Every dollar in your hands before an axe touches the tree."

Grandpa Walker inserted the stem of his pipe between his teeth, and again lapsed into a contemplative mood. After a moment he broke the silence by asking:

"Got the flag, hev ye?"

"Yes; we have the flag."

"Might I be so bold as to ask what the flag cost?"

"It was given to the school."

"Air ye tellin' who give it?"

"Why, there's no secret about it. Colonel Butler gave the flag."

"d.i.c.k Butler?"

"Colonel Richard Butler; yes."