Mr. Frost in reply drew out a copious stream.

“I did the same as you,” said Frank, mystified, “and none came.”

“You didn’t take hold right,” said his father, “and you pressed at the wrong time.  Let me show you.”

Before the first lesson was over Frank had advanced a little in the art of milking, and it may as well be said here that in the course of a week or so he became a fair proficient, so that his father even allowed him to try Vixen, a cow who had received this name from the uncertainty of her temper.  She had more than once upset the pail with a spiteful kick when it was nearly full.  One morning she upset not only the pail, but Frank, who looked foolish enough as he got up covered with milk.

Frank also commenced reading the Plowman, a weekly agricultural paper which his father had taken for years.  Until now he had confined his readings in it to the selected story on the fourth page.  Now, with an object in view, he read carefully other parts of the paper.  He did this not merely in the first flush of enthusiasm, but with the steady purpose of qualifying himself to take his father’s place.

“Frank is an uncommon boy,” said Mr. Frost to his wife, not without feelings of pride, one night, when our hero had retired to bed.  “I would trust him with the farm sooner than many who are half a dozen years older.”

CHAPTER VII.  LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

“Well, father, I’ve got some news for you,” said John Haynes, as he entered his father’s presence, two or three days later.

“What is it, John?” inquired the squire, laying down a copy of the New York Herald, which he had been reading.

“Who do you think has enlisted?”

“I do not choose to guess,” said his father coldly.  “If you feel disposed to tell me, you may do so.

John looked somewhat offended at his father’s tone, but he was anxious to tell the news.  “Frost’s going to enlist,” he said shortly.

“Indeed!” said the squire, with interest.  “How did you hear?”

“I heard him say so himself, just now, in the store.”

“I expected it,” said Squire Haynes, with a sneer.  “I understood his motives perfectly in urging the town to pay an enormous bounty to volunteers.  He meant to line his own pockets at the public expense.”

“He says that he doesn’t mean to accept the bounty,” continued John, in a tone which indicated a doubt whether Mr. Frost was in earnest.

“Did you hear him say that?” asked Squire Haynes abruptly.

“Yes.  I heard him say so to Mr. Morse.”

“Perhaps he means it, and perhaps he doesn’t.  If he don’t take it, it is because he is afraid of public opinion.  What’s he going to do about the farm, while he is gone?”

“That is the strangest part of it,” said John.  “I don’t believe you could guess who is to be left in charge of it.”