He
certainly was a bit of a dandy, as he had said. The father's whole face
changed as he wheeled and came before the lad, who lifted up his arms
expectantly. They had often ridden together on the same horse.
"No rides to-day in that toggery, Eddy," he said in the same voice. "But
I'll get down and we'll go and sit somewhere under a tree and have some
talk. I've got a bit of a job that's hurrying me, and I can't waste
time."
"Not one of your old jobs, father? I thought you had quite given that
up?"
The boy spoke more carelessly than reproachfully, or even wonderingly;
yet, as he dismounted and tethered his horse, Steptoe answered
evasively, "It's a big thing, sonny; maybe we'll make our eternal
fortune, and then we'll light out from this hole and have a gay time
elsewhere. Come along."
He took the boy's gloved right hand in his own powerful grasp, and
together they clambered up the steep hillside to a rocky ledge on which
a fallen pine from above had crashed, snapped itself in twain, and then
left its withered crown to hang half down the slope, while the other
half rested on the ledge. On this they sat, looking down upon the road
and the tethered horse. A gentle breeze moved the treetops above their
heads, and the westering sun played hide-and-seek with the shifting
shadows. The boy's face was quick and alert with all that moved round
him, but without thought the father's face was heavy, except for the
eyes that were fixed upon his son.
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