John was called away just then to attend to some gentlemen who had come to look at the horses, and Reginald waited for his return in vain.  He heard his father’s voice once, raised high in stormy wrath, then all was still again.  Some time afterwards, through the leafy curtain of his veranda, he saw Mr. Hawthorne drive past with a face so distorted with passion that he shivered.

“There’s been no end of a row this time,” he soliloquized.  “It is a mystery to me why John puts up with it.  He’s free to go when he chooses.  I’m sure I’d clear out if I wasn’t such a good-for-nothing.  The governor is getting to be more like a bear than a human being, it’s a dog’s life for everybody unlucky enough to be under the same roof with him.”

* * * * *

Down at the bend of the river a tall figure lay stretched upon the moss.  The river laughed and the birds sang, but John Randolph’s face was buried in his arms.

To leave Hollywood—­that very night!  The place whose very stones were dear to him, where he had learned all he knew of home.  To be turned off like a beggar, without a moment’s warning, after all his years of toil!  To say good-bye forever to the human friends who loved him, and the dear, dumb friends whom he had fondled and tended with such constant care.  Never again to swing along through the sweet freshness of the morning before the sun was up to find the earliest snowdrops for Mrs. Hawthorne, or take a spin in the moonlight with every nerve a-tingle across the frozen bosom of the lake, or wander in delight along the wood roads when every tree was clad in the witching beauty of a silver thaw, or sweep across the wide stretching country in the very poetry of motion, or hear the soft swish of the tall grass as it fell in fragrant rows before the mower, or the creak of the vans as they bore its ripened sweetness towards the great barns, while bird and bee and locust joined in the harmony of the Harvest Home, until the sun sank to rest amidst cloud draperies of royal purple and crimson and gold and the sweet-voiced twilight soothed the world into peace.

On and on the hours swept while John fought his battle.  At length he rose, and with long, lingering glances of good-bye to every tree and rock and flower, began his homeward way.  He would think of it so while he could.  In a few short hours he would be a wanderer upon the face of the earth.  A sudden joy crept into the weary eyes.  So was Jesus Christ!

“Why, John, what has happened!” cried Reginald, as his faithful nurse came to make him comfortable for the night.  “You look like a ghost, and you have had no dinner!  What the mischief is to pay?  You must have been precious busy to leave me alone the whole afternoon.”

“I have been, Rege,” said John quietly, “very busy.”

“I declare, John, I’d make tracks for freedom if I were in your shoes.  You’re a regular convict, and, since you’ve had me on your hands, a galley slave is a gentleman of leisure in comparison!  Why don’t you go, John?  You’ve had nothing but injustice at Hollywood.”