Part 14 (1/2)
”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.”