"It's very strange."

"So it is. I haven't any idea what has become of him."

"Did you look around Squire Pemberton's house, where he was seen last?"

"I looked about on both sides of the road, going and coming from the Harbor. I whistled all the way, and if he had been any where round, he would have whistled back, as he always does."

"What do you _suppose_ has become of him?" demanded the poor mother, worried beyond expression at the mysterious disappearance of her son.

"I can't tell, mother."

"Don't you think we had better call up the neighbors, and have something done about it?"

"I don't know," replied John, hardly less anxious than his mother.

"I don't suppose they would be able to find him if we did," added Mrs.

Somers, wiping away the tears from her face.

"I can't think anything has happened to him, mother. If he had been on the water, or anything of that kind, I should feel worse about it."

"If I only knew where he was, I shouldn't feel so bad about it," said she; and her position, certainly, was a reasonable one.

"What's the matter, sister?" called gran'ther Greene, from his chamber.

"Hasn't that boy got home yet?"

"No, he hasn't come yet, and I am worried to death about him," replied Mrs. Somers, opening the door of her brother's room.

"What o'clock is it?"

"After twelve. Thomas never stayed out so late in his life before. What do you suppose has become of him?"

"Law sake! I haven't the leastest idea," answered the old man. "Thomas is a smart boy, and knows enough to keep out of trouble."

"That's what I say," added John, who had unlimited confidence in his brother's ability to take care of himself.

"I'll tell you what _I_ think, John," said Mrs. Somers, throwing herself into her chair with an air of desperation.

But she did not tell John what she thought: on the contrary, she sat rocking herself in silence, as though her thought was too big and too momentous for utterance.

"Well, what do you think, mother?" asked John, when he had waited a reasonable time for her to express her opinion on the exciting topic.

Mrs. Somers rocked herself more violently than before, and made no reply.

"What were you going to say?"

"I think the boy has gone off to Boston, and gone into the army," replied she, desperately, as though she had fully made up her mind to commit herself to this belief.

"Do you think so, mother?"

"I feel almost sure of it."

"I don't think so, mother. Tom wouldn't have gone off without saying something to me about it."

"If he wouldn't say it to me, he wouldn't be likely to say it to you, John. It don't look a bit like Thomas to go off and leave his mother in this way," moaned the poor woman, wiping away a deluge of tears that now poured from her eyes.

"I don't believe he has done any such thing, mother," protested John.

"I feel almost certain about it, now. If the boy wanted to go, and couldn't stay at home, he ought to have told me so."

"He did say he wanted to go."

"I didn't think he really meant it. I want my boys to love their country, and be ready to fight for it. Much as I should hate to part with them, if they are needed, they may go; but I don't like to have them run away and leave me in this mean way. I shouldn't feel half so bad if I knew Thomas was in the army now, as I do to think he ran away from home, just as though he had done some mean thing. I am willing he should go, and he wouldn't be a son of mine if he wasn't ready to go and fight for his country, and die for her too, if there was any need of it. I didn't think Thomas would serve me in this way."

"I don't believe he has."

"I know he's gone. I like his s.p.u.n.k, but if he had only come to me and said he _must_ go, I wouldn't have said a word; but to go off without bidding us good by--it's too bad, and I didn't think Thomas would do such a thing."

Mrs. Somers rose from her chair, and paced the room in the highest state of agitation and excitement. The rockers were not adequate to the duty required of them, and nothing less than the whole floor of the kitchen was sufficient for the proper venting of her emotion.

"Do you mean to say, mother, that you would have given him leave to go, even if he had teased you for a month?" asked John.

"Certainly I should," replied his mother, stopping short in the middle of the floor. "I'm ready and willing to have my boys fight for their country, but I don't want them to sneak off as though they had been robbing a hen-roost, and without even saying good by to me."

"If Tom were here, do you mean to say you would let him go?" demanded John, earnestly.

"Certainly I do; I mean so. But I don't think there is any need of boys like him going, when there are men enough to do the fighting."

"You told Tom he shouldn't go."

"Well, I didn't think he really meant it. If he had--What's that, John?"

asked she, suddenly, as a noise at the window attracted her attention.

"Only the cat, mother."

"If Thomas or you had asked me in earnest, and there was need of your going, I wouldn't have kept either of you at home. I would go to the poorhouse first. My father and my brother both fought for their country, and my sons shall when their country wants them."

"Then you are willing Tom should go?"

"I am, but not to have him sneak off like a sheep-stealer."

"Three cheers for you, mother!" shouted Thomas, as he threw up the window at which he had been standing for some ten minutes listening to this interesting conversation.

"Where have you been, Thomas?" exclaimed the delighted mother.

"Open the door, Jack, and let me in, and I will tell you all about it,"

replied the absentee.

"Come in; the door isn't locked," said John.