CHAPTER II.

THE CHOICE OF AN OCCUPATION.


The fact was that Mrs. Kingston felt a strong repugnance to her son's
following in his father's footsteps, so far as his occupation was
concerned. She dreaded the danger that was inseparable from it, and
shrank from the idea of giving up the boy, whose company was now the
chief delight of her life, for all the long winter months that would be
so dreary without him.

Frank had some inkling of his mother's feelings, but, boy like, thought
of them as only the natural nervousness of womankind; and his heart being
set upon going to the woods, he was not very open to argument.

"Why don't you want me to go lumbering, mother?" he inquired in a tone
that had a touch of petulance in it. "I've got to do something for
myself, and I detest shopkeeping. It's not in my line at all. Fellows
like Tom Clemon and Jack Stoner may find it suits them, but I can't bear
the idea of being shut up in a shop or office all day. I want to be out
of doors. That's the kind of life for me."

Mrs. Kingston gave a sigh that was a presage of defeat as she regarded
her son standing before her, his handsome face flushed with eagerness and
his eyes flashing with determination.

"But, Frank dear," said she gently, "have you thought how dreadfully
lonely it will be for me living all alone here during the long
winter--your father gone from me, and you away off in the woods, where I