"Well, you have now."

"Where would he go? He aint no home. He wouldn't go to the poorhouse."

"Of course not. I never heard of anybody that had a comfortable home running away to the poorhouse."

"But why should he run away?" argued the deacon.

"Boys often run away," said his wife, sententiously.

"He had no cause."

"Yes, he had. You made him work, and he's lazy, and don't like work.

I'm not surprised at all."

"I s'pose I'd better go after him," said the deacon.

"Don't you stir a step to go, deacon. He aint worth going after. I'm glad we've got rid of him."

"Well, he didn't do much work," admitted the deacon.

"While he ate enough for two boys. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say."

"I don't know how he's goin' to get along. He didn't have no money."

"I don't care how he gets along, as long as he don't come back.

There's plenty of better boys you can get."

Sam would not have felt flattered, if he had heard this final verdict upon his merits. It must be confessed, however, that it was well deserved.

A few days afterwards, the deacon obtained the services of another boy, whom he found more satisfactory than the runaway, and Sam was no longer missed. It was not till the tenth day that he learned of the theft. While riding on that day, he met Mr. Comstock, who had confided to Sam the money-letter.

"Good-morning, Deacon Hopkins," said he, stopping his horse.

"Good-morning," said the deacon.

"I suppose your boy handed you a letter from me."

"I haven't received any letter," said the deacon, surprised.

"It was early last week that I met a boy who said he lived with you.

As I was in a hurry, I gave him a letter containing ten dollars, which I asked him to give to you."

"What day was it?" asked the deacon, eagerly.

"Monday. Do you mean to say he didn't give it to you?"

"No; he ran away the next morning, and I haven't seen him since."

"Then he ran away with the money--the young thief! I told him there was money in it."

"Bless my soul! I didn't think Sam was so bad," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the deacon.

"Didn't you go after him?"

"No; he wasn't very good to work, and I thought I'd let him run. Ef I'd knowed about the money, I'd have gone after him."

"It isn't too late, now."

"I'll ask my wife what I'd better do."

The deacon conferred with his wife, who was greatly incensed against Sam, and would have advised pursuit, but they had no clue to his present whereabouts.

"He'll come back some time, deacon," said she. "When he does, have him took up."

But years pa.s.sed, and Sam did not come back, nor did the deacon set eyes on him for four years, and then under the circ.u.mstances recorded in the first chapter.

CHAPTER X.

SAM'S ADVENTURES AT THE DEPOT.

It was six miles to the station at Wendell, where Sam proposed to take the cars for New York. He had to travel on an empty stomach, and naturally got ravenously hungry before he reached his destination.

About half a mile this side of the depot he pa.s.sed a grocery-store, and it occurred to him that he might get something to eat there.

Entering he saw a young man in his shirt-sleeves engaged in sweeping.

"Have you got anything good to eat?" asked Sam.

"This aint a hotel," said the young man, taking Sam for a penniless adventurer.

"I knew that before," said Sam, "but haven't you got some crackers or something, to stay a feller's stomach?"

"Haven't you had any breakfast?" asked the clerk, curiously.

"No."

"Don't they give you breakfast where you live?"

"Not so early in the morning. You see I had to take an early start, 'cause I'm goin' to attend my grandmother's funeral."

This of course was a story trumped up for the occasion.

"We've got some raw potatoes," said the clerk, grinning.

"I've had enough to do with potatoes," said Sam. "Haven't you got some crackers?"