"If I don't get to liking 'em, I don't care what happens to em,"
Bill answered with his father's own laconicism.

This chicken-heartedness, as he dubbed it, disgusted Martin, who
consequently took a satisfaction in compelling the boy to assist
him actively whenever there were cattle to be dehorned, wire
rings to be pushed through bunches of pigs' snouts, calves to be
delivered by force, young stuff to be castrated or butchering to
be done. Often the sensitive lad's nerves were strained to the
breaking point by the inhuman torture he was constantly forced to
inflict upon creatures that had learned to trust him. There was a
period when it seemed to him every hour brought new horrors; with
each one, his determination strengthened to free himself as soon
as possible from this life that was one round of toil and
brutality.

Rose gave him all the sympathy and help her great heart knew. His
rebellion had been her own, but she had allowed it to be ground
out of her, with her soul now in complete surrender. And here was
her boy going through it all over again, for himself, learning
the dull religion of toil from one of its most fanatical priests.
What if Bill, too, should finally have acquiescence to Martin
rubbed into his very marrow, should absorb his father's point of
view, grow up and run, with mechanical obedience, the farm he
abhorred? The very possibility made her shudder. If only she
could rescue him in some manner, help him to break free from this
bondage. College--that would be the open avenue. Martin would
insist upon an agricultural course, but she would use all her
tact and rally all her powers that Billy might be given the