From the point of reasoning which Mr. Hill took he was justifiable in
feeling as he did. Everything about the little farmhouse reminded him of
the woman he had loved. He never came to the house without a pang of
painful loneliness at her absence. He felt himself incapable of caring for
the children. She had always done that, and he did not know what they
needed nor why. It would be better both for him and the children to be away
from this dreary, grief-laden spot. But he could not take the children with
him, and what would he do with them if he did? But there was Austin. Why
should he feel tied to the children when Austin was willing to look after
them? The thing to do was to get out and find a more suitable place,
leaving Austin to look after home and the little ones.

But it would be pretty hard to leave so many children on one boy. The
neighbors would have a great deal to say. Maybe he had better get a place
for some of them. But where could he find a place? Why, to be sure--why had
he not thought of that before?--he would take Lila and Doyle to his
mother's, and Austin could manage the rest. That was just the thing, and no
one could find fault with the arrangement, at least no one who knew Austin.
And reasoning thus, he had his plans all made before he mentioned them. The
sunny, pleasant days of spring had come, and the air was balmy and sweet
with the perfume of blossoms, making the vagrant soul of Henry Hill sick
with wanderlust, and he could hardly wait to put his plans into action.

"Austin, I believe I shall take Lola and Doyle out to your grandmother's,
and try to get work there," he said one morning at the breakfast-table.
"You can stay on here with the other children, and can get along very well
if I am gone all summer. It will make it easier for you if I have the
little ones."