It was now the middle of November, and the children were not yet in school. Austin’s first duty after coming back from the hay-fields was to get them ready and started in for the rest of the winter. He himself would have to work every day to help with the support of the family. No time now for him to think of going to school, but the younger five should have a better opportunity than he had been given. Such was his vow as he started them off the next Monday morning. The children were delighted to be back in Sunday-school and to begin their school-year. The time spent in the opens had greatly increased their appreciation of home.

But troubles were ahead. The warfare between Austin and his father waged harder than ever. They had no common point of contact in their natures. Austin had a clear, definite conception of duty and right, while his father’s conception of such things was unusually dim and vague. Austin not only saw and understood his own duty, but he saw with equal clearness his father’s duty. Though he was not a boy to nag, yet so strong was his personality that his displeasure was keenly felt. Thus Henry Hill felt continually under criticism. He was lashed for every slip and lapse from duty by the unspoken condemnation of this clear-eyed, strong-souled son of his, and made extremely uncomfortable.

Austin was almost as restless as his father. He had continually to fight a disgust and hatred that should have no part in a Christian’s emotions. And he longed to be of service in the world. It was the call of youth in his veins that stirred these restless longings, but Austin had no one to explain this to him. It is not nature that a boy should settle down to carry a man’s responsibilities, and any boy who has it to do will either become a drudge or will suffer with restless longings that can hardly be controlled.

“I am out of work again and do not know where in these parts I can get the kind I want. While you are here to stay with the children, I believe I will get out and look around a while. Maybe I can locate something more suitable in another town,” said Henry Hill to his son one day.

It was the same old story. Restlessness, dissatisfaction, wanderlust, irresponsibility, shirking of duty. Austin’s lips curled just a little in scorn before he answered his father.

“Better get you a steady job here and settle down and keep the children in school. Even if you can not get just what you might want, you can have plenty of good-paying work, and be at home. Something brought in every week for the support of the children is needed here more than anything else.”

“I can not see my way clear to do that, Austin. While I am sticking with a poor job here, the very kind I want might be getting away from me. The thing to do in a case like this is to get out and hustle and find what you want,” reasoned the father.

“Well, as you will. But I shall need help to get on with the children. I can not do my duty by them and yet fully support them.”

“Do not worry about that. I usually keep up my part of everything,” said the father.

But he went away leaving practically nothing with Austin for the care of the children, and he was not seen in those parts again. Occasional letters came from him, and sometimes a little money accompanied these letters, but for the most part it was the labors of Austin’s hands that kept the wolf from the door.

It was the beginning of winter, the season when household expenses are the highest, and it was a hard struggle for the boy to carry the whole load all the weary weeks. The care of the children also was great. The irresponsible nature of their father ruled in some of their natures, and to Austin it at times seemed there was no use trying to make good citizens of them. But he remembered his mother and how hard she would have struggled to keep them together, and what efforts she would have made to bring them up right, and for her sake he struggled on. He hoped for nothing from the older boys, for they paid little attention to him and the children.

“Is Hill about anywhere?” asked a rough voice at the door.

“No, sir, he is not at home. Is there anything I can do for you!” asked Austin politely.

“No, perhaps not. I wanted to see him. He justly owes me a sum of money, and as I am needing it now I wanted to see if he would come across with it,” answered the man gruffly.

Austin had not known of any such debt and now inquired of his caller until he had the man’s side of the story. Later he investigated the matter until he was satisfied that it was a just debt. His father had left in his care a few hogs, and their sale would pay the debt and leave a little over. Austin was confident that his father would never come back and had intended not to pay the debt at all. He did not want such a blot on the family name, so determined to sell the hogs and pay the debt.

This he did, writing his father of the transaction, and receiving in reply a scorching reproof for his forwardness. He could not hope to be in his father’s good graces for a long time after this deed. “If he does not want straight dealing, he had better not leave his business in my hands,” was Austin’s mental comment as he read the letter. Austin was free also at this time in writing very pointedly to his father of the family needs and to insist that more money should be forthcoming to meet current expenses. He had none of those lofty feelings that had stirred his young breast when he worked in Mr. Long’s garden. He felt that he was being imposed upon.

At last the father sent the word that he had located the good job and was now ready for the family. He told Austin to dispose of the household goods and bring the children as soon as he could. But there was nothing to cheer Austin in doing this. It meant only another few months in a strange locality and then on again somewhere else. The only way for his father to settle down at all seemed to be for him to have the full responsibility of the children where he could not get away. Austin determined to give him a new lesson.

He disposed of the household goods, packed the bedding and things to be taken to the new home, and, putting the children on the train, sent them to their father; and he staid on with his work, for he had a good place. The children were unwilling for this, but Austin’s patience had worn out, and he felt he could not carry his father’s burden any farther.

Henry Hill was quite chagrined at the turn Austin had taken. He did not suppose the boy would leave the children again. But there was nothing else to do but take his load and carry it. Those weeks of waiting during the winter had been fruitful in the hearts of his children in developing in them all a genuine disregard for their father. Austin had not the ability of his mother to lead the children away from him and his influence. He had been so vexed with his father’s behavior that he had lent an influence of disrespect to the children. Now that they were under their father’s government, they grew every week more unruly and disobedient to him. He had no control over them. Even his dull eyes saw the danger into which Amy and Nell were drifting in the careless, unrestrained way they were taking. So in his helplessness he could only turn to Austin. Writing him something of his difficulties, he said: “I shall have to give up housekeeping entirely if you can not come, for the girls will get into trouble. They need some one over them who can manage them. They will not obey me at all.”

It had been a number of weeks since he had sent the children away, and in that time Austin had been far from happy. He felt that he was not doing his duty, yet he could not under existing circumstances feel that he should take the entire care and support of the children. But this S. O. S. aroused him to a knowledge of the present duty, and he went directly home.

The change which had taken place in the children in the weeks he had been absent amazed him. There had been something about their new environments that had developed the worst that was in them. They now lived in town, and the girls had been running about at their will. They had fallen in with companions who were not doing them any good, and at the present rate of speed would soon be past any control at all.

Austin took up the home cares as well as he could, though with a sinking heart. He was terribly alone and helpless. And again he was plucked up from his church-home, a sheep out on the barren mountains, it seemed to him. And in looking ahead he could see nothing bright to work toward. But he did not lose hold of the throne of God and did not forget to seek comfort and strength in prayer. And God helped him in those days.

He had been out from the house a short while one evening, and when he came in, his father said, “I wish you would go and find the girls.”

“Why are they away? I did not know they intended going out,” said Austin in some surprize.

“Well, they are gone and would tell me nothing about where they were going. They dressed in their best and set off down the street,” answered the father in a worried tone.

Austin set out, praying as he went. He had no idea where he was to go nor how he should find them, for the town was large and just at that time was filled with visitors attending some sort of circus just at the edge of the town. Tonight large crowds were going out there, and for several nights the conduct in and about the tents had been boisterous. It was no place for two little girls to go unattended. Toward this place Austin made his way, praying earnestly. And down the street he saw Amy and Nell drifting with the crowd and having the best of times. Hurrying till he overtook them, he touched them on the arms gently and said, “I have come for you girls. It is time you were at home.”

They looked at him in surprize for an instant, and while he met their eyes without flinching, he cried out to God from his heart. If they would not obey him he was helpless. But they obeyed without protest and went home with him. He questioned them a little and found that they had gone out without planning, just dressed up and gone out for what good times they could find. He explained to them something of the dangers of such a course, and they listened to him courteously.

This incident gave him both courage and uneasiness. Courage to hope that he might be able to govern them, but uneasiness about their sudden whims and turns. If he had been instructed of the changes in disposition that overtake all children at their age, he might not have been so troubled, but to him it seemed that his little sisters had suddenly determined to take the wrong course in spite of everything. He saw more plainly than ever that his father had trifled away his chance of influencing his children for good.