A Tale of the Tow-Path

by Homer Greene

  CHAPTER V.

  HOMEWARD BOUND.

  The window of the telegraph office on the canal at Ellenville facesthe tow-path. Although day was breaking and the sky was cloudless, thetelegraph operator was still working by the light of an oil lamp.

  He was taking a message, which, when it was reduced to writing, read asfollows:--

  Stop boy on gray horse going east. Horse stolen from me. Coming at once to claim property.

  WILLIAM ROSENCAMP.

  The operator, with the telegram in his hand, went out at the door andlooked up the canal. As he did so he saw bearing down upon him a grayhorse ridden by a boy. It was Joe with Old Charlie.

  Both boy and horse were splashed with mud, and bore evidence of havingcome far and fast through the night.

  The operator stepped quickly out upon the tow-path, and threw up hishand, with the telegram still fluttering in it.

  "Stop!" he shouted. "Hold up, there!"

  Joe reined in Old Charlie, and the young man seized the improvisedbridle.

  "Where are you going with this horse?" he asked.

  "Home," replied Joe, promptly.

  "Isn't this Bill Rosencamp's horse?"

  "No, sir," said the boy, stoutly; "he isn't. He's my father's horse! Hewas stolen, and I'm takin' him back home."

  "Didn't Captain Bill have him?"

  "Yes, but he hadn't any right to him, and he abused him, too."

  "Didn't you take him without Captain Bill's knowledge?"

  "Of course I did! I couldn't have got 'im at all if I hadn't."

  "Well, I guess you'd better get off and let me take charge of thehorse, and we'll investigate this matter a little. Come," he called,as Joe hesitated, "get down! Get down, I say!"

  The boy let himself wearily to the ground.

  Several men and boys who were standing near the offices and on thetow-path came crowding about.

  "The superintendent is due here soon," said the operator. "He's comingup with the paymaster, and he'll settle it."

  On the canal the superintendent's authority was almost absolute. Localauthorities deferred to him in all matters pertaining to the canal andits employes, unless the law were formally invoked.

  The crowd stood about impatiently. The operator still held the horse,and Joe stood near, looking confident and very earnest. Presently asteam-launch came puffing up the canal, gave two shrill whistles, andwas quickly made fast to the dock.

  A heavy, well-built man, with a closely cropped beard and a kindlyface, stepped from the deck to the tow-path. He was followed by a manwho carried a heavy valise, and by one or two other men.

  They were the canal superintendent and the paymaster and theirassistants.

  "What's the matter here, Matthew?" asked the superintendent,approaching the group.

  "This boy is charged with stealing this horse," replied the operator."Here's the message."

  The superintendent took the telegram and read it.

  "Is this Bill Rosencamp's horse?" he asked, turning to Joe.

  "No, sir!" repeated Joe. "He isn't. He's my father's horse."

  "But he acknowledges having taken him from Rosencamp," the operatorexplained.

  "Well," said the superintendent, "Rosencamp is coming. When he getshere we shall find out whose horse it is."

  "But I don't want to stay here till he comes," said Joe.

  "Probably not," remarked the operator, sarcastically.

  The superintendent, who seemed to perceive that this was not anordinary case of horse-stealing, now looked more closely at Joe, andnoticed the boy's haggard, hungry look.

  "He won't hurt you," he said. "Rosencamp's a rough fellow, but he won'thurt any one around here; and if it turns out that the horse is yoursor your father's, you will get possession of him, of course. Meantimewe shall have to find out the exact truth of the matter. Have you hadany breakfast?"

  "No, sir," replied Joe, "I haven't had any, nor Old Charlie either."

  The superintendent smiled. "Matthew," he said, "tell the stable-man totake this horse up to the barn and feed him and rub him down. And you,"turning to the boy, who was not a little bewildered by the invitation,"come with me."

  He led the way across the street into a large boarding-house. There,in a warm and pleasant dining-room, Joe ate the first good meal he hadtaken in several weeks.

  Under its cheering influence his heart warmed, his tongue was loosened,and to Mrs. Jones, the kind landlady, who sat by and served him, hetold the story of his folly, his suffering, and his desire.

  When he had finished his breakfast, Mrs. Jones went with him to theoffice, and calling the superintendent aside, said,--

  "This boy is no thief. He is honest and right in what he has done."

  "We shall soon find out about it," was the reply. "Here comesRosencamp."

  Captain Bill rode up to the office door, dismounted, and tied hishorse. To the group of men and boys who quickly surrounded him he told,with many threats and much rough language, the story of his night ride,and denounced the wickedness of Joe.

  "Ef I once git my hands on 'im," he muttered, "he'll never want to seeanother hoss agin as long as _he_ lives!"

  Tired with his journey, splashed with mud, his face red with anger, heentered the office and demanded the gray horse.

  "Was it your horse that the boy took?" inquired the superintendent.

  "Course it was," replied Captain Bill, with a fine pretence ofindignation.

  "Where did you get the horse?" was the next question.

  "Bought 'im."

  "Where?"

  "Right here in Ellenville."

  "From whom?"

  Rosencamp hesitated a little. "I don't rightly know the man's name," hesaid. "A feller 'at had 'im to sell."

  "I know!" piped out a shrill voice from the crowd that had gatheredin the room. "It was Callipers, the man that's been in prison forhorse-stealing. I see 'em strike the bargain here on the tow-pathyisterday."

  Rosencamp lost something of his bravado. The kindly look disappearedfrom the face of the superintendent.

  "Did you get this horse from Callipers?" he asked severely.

  "Well, yes, if that's what 'is name is," replied Captain Bill,doggedly.

  "Don't you know that Callipers has been convicted of horse-stealing?"

  "I don't know's I do."

  "And didn't you know that this horse had been stolen?"

  "If I had 'a' knowed it, do you s'pose I'd 'a' took 'im? Who says itwas a stolen hoss, anyhow?" added Captain Bill, looking the crowd oversavagely.

  "I say so," said a man who had just entered the room. "I saw Callipersarrested last night for stealing the horse he traded to Bill Rosencamp.The constable has the irons on him now, and the sheriff has gone acrossto Port Jervis to head off the horse."

  "Well, Rosencamp," said the superintendent, "what have you to say tothat?"

  "If the hoss was stole," said Rosencamp, "how was I to know it? Nobodytold me it was stolen."

  "Yes, somebody did tell you!" exclaimed Joe. "I told you the horse wasstolen, and the man you got him of stood right there an' didn't denyit, either! I said it was my father's horse, an' it is!"

  The superintendent turned to Joe. "Who is your father?" he asked.

  Joe hesitated a moment. Then he replied, "His name is Gaston."

  "What Gaston? Do you mean Leonard Gaston, of Laymanville?"

  "Yes, sir, that's his name. That's where he lives."

  "And you--look here! Are you the boy who ran away from home last June?I know your father, if you are Joseph Gaston, and I know that he hasbeen breaking his heart about you for three months."

  Joe turned his face from the crowd, and looked down at the floor. Therewas perfect stillness in the room. Joe was the first to break thesilence. He held up his head, and looked the superintendent squarely inthe face.

  "I did run away from home," he said, "and it was foolish and it waswicked. I didn't know it then, but I do now, and I want to go back,especially since I found the
horse. I think maybe if I take Old Charlieback with me they--they won't be so hard on me; they--they'll begladder to--to--"

  The boy burst into tears, and broke down completely. The superintendentrose from his chair, and opened the door into a private office.

  "Here," he said to Joe; "come in here. I want to talk with you."

  On the threshold the superintendent turned to look at Captain Bill.

  "Are you going to institute proceedings against this boy? If you are,he will be placed under bonds, and I shall become his bondsman. If youare not going to prosecute him, you may go straight back to your boat,"he said sharply. "And if I hear of your dealing in stolen horses again,or abusing any more boys, this canal company will dispense with yourservices on very short notice."

  Rosencamp, disappointed, cowed, more angry than ever, knowing thathe could not prosecute Joe, made his way to the door and out to thetow-path amid the jeers of the waiting crowd. He mounted his horse, androde away.

  Fifteen minutes later Joe and the superintendent came out from theprivate office. It was evident that the boy had been weeping; but inhis eyes there was a look of gladness and firmness that expressed, moreplainly than words could have done, the condition of his mind.

  "Matthew," said the superintendent, "tell the stable-man to get thisboy's horse, put a saddle and bridle on him, and bring him here. Havehim get out a horse for you, for I want you to go with the boy as faras Darbytown. From there he knows the way home, and can go alone."

  That afternoon, while the sun was still high, Joe and Old Charliewere on the highway not far from their home. Matthew had left them atDarbytown, after getting a good dinner for all of them, and now theywere travelling homeward alone.

  The old horse jogged on, trotting or walking as he liked, stopping atthe roadside now and then to nibble at a tempting bunch of grass or abit of fresh foliage, or to plunge his nose into the cooling waters ofa wayside stream.

  Even now, however, they were not making very slow time on the whole;and earlier in the day they had gone faster. It had seemed to Joe thathe could not wait till the white front of the old farmhouse should comeinto sight from the top of Hickory Hill.

  The eager anticipation of his return to the dear old home hadheightened his spirits, and brightened his eyes.

  But after Matthew left him he began to think; and the more deeply hethought, the slower became his progress. Many suspicions and misgivingshad come into his mind.

  He no longer paid heed to the beauty of the day, the splendor of thesun, or the rich luxuriance of the early autumn foliage. He was lookingonly into his own heart. He was thinking only of his inexcusable follyand wickedness in leaving so good a home. He was wondering what hisfather would say to him; how his mother would receive him; whether hislittle sister would ever again care to play with him as of old.

  He was wondering, indeed, if his parents would wish to have him comehome at all, disgraced as he was; if the door of his father's housewould not be shut and barred against him forever.

  "Hello, ther! W'at's the matter wi' ye?"

  The exclamation, coming so suddenly and unexpectedly, so startled Joethat he almost fell from his horse. He had been so deeply engrossed inthought that he had not seen any one approaching. He looked down nowand discovered a little old man standing near the horse's head.

  The man was shrunken, knock-kneed, eccentric in dress and manner,and leaned heavily on his cane. Joe recognized him at once as aneighborhood character, whom every one knew by the name of Uncle Billy.

  "W'y, I thought ye was asleep," said the old man. "I was fearful ye'dtumble off the hoss."

  "I wasn't asleep," replied Joe. "I was thinkin'."

  "A-thinkin'!" exclaimed Uncle Billy; "w'at right's a boy like you gotto be a-thinkin', I'd like to know?" He advanced a step and laid hishand on Old Charlie's neck. "Ben a good hoss in 'is day," he commented;"looks like the hoss Leonard Gaston use to hev,--the one 'at was stole."

  "It is," replied Joe; "it's the same horse."

  The old man started back so quickly that he tripped and almost fellover his cane.

  "Who be you?" he exclaimed, shading his eyes with his hand, and lookingup intently at Joe. "You aint Joe Gaston, be ye?"

  "Yes, I am; I'm Joe Gaston," responded the boy, sadly.

  Uncle Billy retreated still farther. "Well, I'm dumflustered!" heexclaimed. After a minute he added, "W'ere ye goin'?"

  "Home!" replied Joe.

  The old man shook his head solemnly. "Ye won't git much of a welcomether," he said.

  "Why? Is my father set against me?" asked Joe, anxiously.

  "Set aginst ye? That's puttin' it too mild. He's cast ye off. He'sunherited ye. He won't speak of ye to nobody, an' he won't let nobodyso much as mention yer name in his presience. Now what ye think o'that?"

  The old man seemed to take delight in giving his unwelcome information.He looked up at Joe with a quizzical smile on his thin face, and waitedfor an answer.

  Joe did not reply to the question, but after a minute he asked,--

  "Do--do you know whether my mother feels the--the same way?"

  "Of course she doos! First along she purty near cried 'er eyes out overye. She went around makin' out't ye never stole that hoss; said ye'dbe back in a day or two an' clear it all up. But she's give ye up now.They don't none on 'em ever expect to see ye agin; an' w'at's more, Iguess they don't none on 'em want to. What ye think o' that? Hey?"

  Again the old man smiled grimly at Joe, and again Joe left his questionunanswered. He was struggling now with a great lump in his throat thatwas growing larger and more uncontrollable each moment.

  "What--what does my little sister--what does Jennie think?" he asked,choking sadly over the question.

  "Well there now!" was the reply; "that gal--I didn't think o' her. Shedon't da's't talk about ye to hum, ye know, but w'en she's away shekind o' finds opportetunities to discuss the subjec'. 'Twa'n't but lastweek she says to me over to Williams's place, says she, 'It's awfullonesome without Joe,' she says. 'I wisht he'd come back an' be a goodboy,' says she. 'Aint it sad about his goin' away so?' she says. 'Doyou think he'll come back agin soon, Uncle Billy?' says she. An' Isays, 'No, he won't never come back agin. He's gone too fur,' says I,'in more ways 'an one,' says I. What ye think o' that? Hey?"

  But this time Joe could not have answered the question if he hadtried. The lump in his throat seemed to have dissolved into tears; theyfilled his eyes, and ran freely down his face.

  The old man saw that the boy was crying, and for a moment seemed torepent his hardness of heart.

  "I'm sorry for ye, sonny," said Uncle Billy, after an awkward pause;"but I tell ye they aint no use o' yer goin' hum; they don't ixpect ye,an' they don't want ye."

  Still Joe sat, weeping and speechless.

  "Well," the old man added, "I must be joggin' on. Somebody might comealong an' see us two together, an'--well, I've got a reppytation tolose, ye know."

  He burst into a shrill cackling laugh, grasped his twisted cane morefirmly, and hobbled on around a bend in the road and out of sight.

  Old Charlie, unheeded by his young master, started on.

  The sun sank till the light it threw on the green September foliage wasmellow and golden. From somewhere in the distance came the ting-a-lingof a cow-bell, as the herd wandered slowly home. The sound and thememories it brought started fresh tears into Joe's eyes, and when themist they occasioned had cleared away he found himself on the summit ofHickory Hill.

  Down in the valley, half-hidden by trees, he saw the white front of hishome. Behind it rose the gray roofs of the barns; before it stretchedthe yellow road; on it fell the soft light of the dying day.

  He had drawn the reins and sat looking down on it, while Old Charlie,pricking up his ears in glad recognition of the familiar sight, pawedthe ground impatiently.

  "No," Joe said, at last, "we won't go on. It's no use. I'm sorry,but--it's no use."

  He turned the horse's head, and Joe and Charlie started back.

  CHAP
TER VI.

  OLD CHARLIE BRINGS BACK JOE.

  On the day Joe left home his mother put his room in order for himas usual, and placed on the table a little bouquet of red and whitegeraniums and verbenas. She could not believe that he would be goneover night, and she knew that when he came he would be tired, broken,repentant, and grateful for the least mark of tenderness.

  She delayed supper beyond the hour, in the hope that he might come.Even after the others had forced themselves to eat, she set asideenough for Joe.

  She went many times to the east window to look down the road for him,and sent Jennie to the top of the hill to see if she could discover inthe distance a boy riding toward her on a gray horse.

  But Jennie, whose eyes had been full of tears all day, came back atdusk to say that she had seen nothing. Then she went weeping to bed.

  The next day came, and many days thereafter; but Joe's room was stillvacant, and Old Charlie's stall was still empty.

  Farmer Gaston's grief was less touching than his wife's perhaps, butit was really as deep as hers. The habitual sternness of his face wastempered with the lines of sorrow.

  He had made no effort to find the horse. There was no doubt in hismind that Joe had taken him; but he did not care to bring the boy intodeeper disgrace by making public search.

  Mr. Gaston sometimes wondered if he had taken the right course withJoe. His theory had been that the more strictly a boy was held to hiswork and duty as a boy, the more earnestly would he follow both as aman.

  But he began now to think that possibly he had been too strict withJoe. Had he not left too little room for independence of thought andaction? Had he tried to smother those boyish instincts of freedom andfair play that go, no less than other qualities, to make up the man?

  His grief was mingled thus with a degree of remorse; but he stillbelieved that it would not be wise to go out in search of Joe, offeringterms of forgiveness. The boy's offence had been too great for that.His own salvation depended on his coming back voluntarily in repentanceand humiliation, with a full confession of his fault.

  The hot days of July went by, and the hotter days of August. The summertasks went on as of old about the farm, but the old place had neverbefore been so silent and lonely.

  The lines on Mr. Gaston's face grew deeper. He went about withshoulders bent, as if bearing some heavy burden.

  Joe's mother, pitifully silent and anxious-eyed, not venturing toquestion the wisdom or oppose the will of her husband, went every dayto place fresh flowers in Joe's room. Every night she sat and looked upthe long road to the east till darkness came and swallowed it, hoping,waiting, and yearning for the sight of her returning boy.

  Meantime there had been, after a long delay, a movement in thecommunity to look a little more deeply into the matter of thedisappearance of Joe and the horse. Squire Bidwell, who happened to beat once the local justice of the peace and a good friend of Joe Gaston,found it hard to believe that the boy who had been an apt and receptivepupil in his Sunday school had proved to be a common thief.

  The squire, moreover, had been Farmer Gaston's friend from boyhood, andhe saw with great pain the havoc which Joe's disappearance, and hisfather's belief in his guilt, was making in the family. He resolved todo what he could to probe the matter to the bottom.

  He called together three or four of his most prudent townsmen, andset them at work making inquiries and doing a sort of detective work.Presently it was found that a farmer in an adjoining town had, on theevening of the day after Joe's disappearance, while driving a cow frompasture, seen a rough-looking man ride a gray horse out of a wood-lot,and had found the place where the man and the horse had apparentlypassed several hours, and eaten a meal or two.

  This clew was followed up. Still farther on other traces of the realthief were found. He had now passed quite beyond any jurisdiction ofSquire Bidwell, but the authorities were notified of what had beenlearned, and were on the alert.

  Callipers was well known through previous misdeeds. The man who hadbeen seen answered his description. For a long time he evaded pursuit;but at last, as we have seen, he was apprehended, the very day after hehad turned Old Charlie over to Rosencamp on the canal.

  * * * * *

  Late one September afternoon, after a day of sunshine and blue skies,Joe's father sat on the westerly porch of the farmhouse, looking awaytoward the lake, on which the shadows were now falling deeply, andthinking of what had occurred on its shores on a memorable day in June.

  On the steps at his feet, her chin in her hands, thinking also of poorJoe, sat his daughter Jennie. Mrs. Gaston, busy with some householdtask, moved about in the rooms near by.

  Suddenly through the lane around the corner of the house came SquireBidwell. He declined Mrs. Gaston's invitation to enter the house, andMr. Gaston's invitation to take a chair on the porch. Then with someembarrassment, as though he were treading on delicate ground, thesquire said,--

  "Neighbor, you remember that gray horse you used to have?"

  "Yes," replied Mr. Gaston, coldly. "I remember him."

  "Well, some of us were talking about that horse the other day, and--andwe kind of thought we'd look him up. We haven't found him yet--"

  "No, I presume not."

  "But we found out who took him."

  "I suppose we know who took him," said Mr. Gaston, uneasily.

  "I don't think you do, Gaston," said the squire. "It wasn't Joe."

  "What!" exclaimed the farmer.

  Mrs. Gaston had approached, and called out eagerly, "Mr. Bidwell!"

  "O Joe! Oh, goody!" screamed Jennie.

  "No," repeated the squire, "it wasn't your boy. It was a commonhorse-thief,--a bow-legged, stumpy fellow by the nickname of Callipers."

  "Are you sure about this?" questioned Mr. Gaston. "What evidence haveyou got?"

  "You won't deceive us?" exclaimed Joe's mother.

  "No, Mrs. Gaston, I wouldn't," said the squire, who had now found histongue,--"not for anything. What I'm telling you is truth, every wordof it. Joe didn't take that horse. He didn't know any more about thetaking of that horse than you did,--not a bit. But we've run down theman who did it, from one clew to another, and the deputy sheriff's gothim in a wagon out here in the road in front of the house now. Will yougo out and see him? I guess maybe he can tell you something about Joe.He seems inclined to make a clean breast of it. I'd have brought himaround here with me, but the sheriff's got handcuffs on him, and it'shard to get him out and in the wagon."

  The next minute all four were on their way to the front gate. Calliperssat there in the wagon, under the eye of the deputy sheriff, withstoical indifference on his face.

  "Good evenin', ladies!" he said briskly, as the party approached him."Good evenin', Mr. Gaston, sir. I'm sorry to 'ave put you to thetrouble of comin' out 'ere, sir, but circumstances over which, as I maysay, I have no control has made it inconwenient for me to meet you inyour 'ouse."

  "Never mind that," answered Mr. Gaston, sharply. "I'll talk to youhere."

  "Thank you, sir! I'm glad to meet you an' your hinteresting family,sir. I 'ad the pleasure o' visitin' your 'andsome place once before,sir. It was in lovely June, in the early mornin', sir. I may say it wasso early that I 'adn't the 'eart to disturb your slumbers. But as theresult o' that 'ere visit, be'old me now!"

  The man held up his hands to show the steel bands firmly clasped abouthis wrists, and joined by a few short links.

  "Do you know anything about my son?" asked Mr. Gaston, abruptly.

  "Yes, sir. I will proceed with my tale. You see I was jest about toenter the stable door that mornin' w'en that young feller appeareda-comin' down the path, and as 'e appeared I disappeared be'ind thecorner o' the barn. He went in w'ere the 'oss was, an' talked somesort o' rubbish to 'im about 'is goin' away an' all that, you know.I couldn't quite make out the drift of it. But 'e bid good-by to the'oss, an' went out a-wipin' of 'is eyes, an' struck into the road 'ere,an' walked away in that direction."

 
The man was about to indicate the direction referred to; but findinghis right hand securely clasped to the other, he abandoned the attempt,begging to be excused from pointing out the direction.

  "Seein' that the 'oss was up an' awake," he continued, "an' probablywouldn't sleep no more that mornin' anyhow, I took 'im with me into thecountry."

  "But about Joe, the boy?" asked Mr. Gaston, eagerly. "Have you seen himsince?"

  "Well, yes, sir, I 'ave. But now, look 'ere; you expects me tocriminate myself, do you?"

  "It will probably go less hard with you," said Squire Bidwell, "if youtell the whole story of your performances, and reveal what you knowabout this boy that you've put under such a grave suspicion."

  "All right, all right," said the horse-thief. "You've got me, 'ard andtight, that's sure, an' I don't see no way out o' it, now. I can giveMr. Gaston information that will lead him to the boy and the 'oss, sir."

  Then the man told how he had seen Joe on the canal, driving thetow-horses.

  "How do you know it was our son you saw?" inquired Mr. Gaston, sternly.

  "Well, it was the same lad that went into the barn an' came out ofit again that lovely mornin' in June. Besides, this 'ere gray 'osswas there, you know, and the 'oss knowed 'im, an' 'e knowed the 'oss.W'y, w'en they see each other on the canal, they was that tickled theyrubbed noses an' cried,--both of 'em."

  "Papa," exclaimed Jennie, "that was Joe! I know it was! It was Joe andOld Charlie!"

  "To tell the truth," said Callipers, "the lad didn't look just to sayswell. 'Is clothes, if I must remark on 'em, seemed to be summat theworse for wear. His jacket an' trousers was jest about so-so. 'Is shoes'ad give out in places too numerous to mention. An' there was 'ardlyenough left of the 'at 'e 'ad on to make it proper to speak of it."

  "Father," exclaimed Mrs. Gaston, "we must get him at once. He is inwant; he is suffering! He is honest, too. He has been foolish andheadstrong, but he is honest, and we have wronged him in our thoughtevery day for three months. Now he must come home!"

  It had been many years since Mrs. Gaston had expressed herself in sopositive a manner as this to her husband. But now it was not necessary.He was as impatient for Joe's return as she.

  "I shall go to-morrow morning," he said firmly, "and find him and bringhim home."

  For the last two or three minutes Squire Bidwell had been gazingintently at something that had attracted his notice off on the hillsidein the distance.

  "Well, I declare!" he exclaimed, finally, "that _is_ curious. Look!"

  He pointed to the place where the open country road wound up the longslope of Hickory Hill. The sun had so far descended that the valleywas in shadow, but it was still flooding the hilltops with its yellowlight; and in its glow the figure of a boy on a horse, almost a mileaway, was distinctly outlined.

  "Do you see them," asked the squire,--"up there in the road? They'vedone it twice or three times already. Now they're going to do it again;watch 'em!"

  What "they" had done was this: The boy was apparently laboring undersome indecision, as if wishing to remain on the top of the hill. Thehorse, however, was plainly bent upon rushing down the hill towardthe house. After a plunge down the road, the rider would succeed inturning the animal's head up again; but he would no sooner have got afair start in that direction, than the horse, swinging suddenly around,would begin to gallop furiously down the road once more toward theGaston farm.

  Now, again, in sight of them all, the boy succeeded in stopping thehorse, in turning his head, and forcing him to reascend the hill; andonce more the horse whirled about and plunged down the road toward thehouse.

  This time, however, he received no check. The boy, as if in wearinessand despair, allowed the reins to droop. The animal sped on, and thenext moment both were hidden behind the trees at the bend of the road.

  Mr. Gaston, shading his eyes with his hand, still stood gazingintently at the place where horse and rider had disappeared.

  Mrs. Gaston's white face and eager eyes, fixed on the point where theroad came out of the grove, showed that she divined the truth.

  "It is Joe!" she said, with forced calmness. "He is coming home!"

  Then Old Charlie, with his young master on his back, bounded intosight, and presently boy and horse were in the midst of the group.

  The next moment Joe was kneeling in the road, with his father's handclasped in both his.

  "Father!" he said, "will you please forgive me and let me come home?"

  Before the father could reply, the arms of Joe's mother were aroundhim, and Jennie was laughing and crying and clinging to his neck.

  Then the good old horse, pushing his nose in among the four faces thathe loved, met with a welcome that was no less sincere.

  "He made me come," explained Joe, a minute later. "I got to the top ofthe hill, and my courage gave out, and I didn't dare come down, and Ithought I would ride back on the road a piece farther, and then turnthe horse loose and let him come home, while I went on afoot; but OldCharlie would come, whether or no, and--"

  Joe's voice gave out. Every one cried a little. Even Squire Bidwell andthe deputy sheriff and Callipers had tears in their eyes. Mr. Gaston'sface, even with the tear-marks on it, was radiant.

  Soon the squire and the deputy sheriff, with their prisoner, Callipers,drove off toward the county seat. Then the whole Gaston family wentwith Old Charlie to the stable, and gave him his supper and his bedbefore seeking their own.

  Joe's father and mother and sister were happy people that night.

  THE END.

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  This admirable line of books for young people contains some of thechoicest stories for children ever written. The volumes are wellprinted, illustrated with frontispieces, and attractively bound in newstyles, with separate designs by the best artists for each cover.

  _8vo. Per vol. $0.50_

  AUNT HANNAH AND SETH. By James Otis. BLIND BROTHER. By Homer Greene. CAPTAIN'S DOG. By Louis Enault. CANDLE AND THE CAT. By Mary F. Leonard. CAXTON CLUB. By Amos R. Wells. CHILD AND THE TREE. By Bessie K. Ulrich. CHRISTMAS AT DEACON HACKETT'S. By James Otis. CHRISTMAS TREE SCHOLAR. By Francis Bent Dillingham. DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOT. By Mrs. J. H. Ewing. DAISIES AND DIGGLESES. By Evelyn Raymond. DAYS BEFORE HISTORY. By H. R. Hall. DEAR LITTLE MARCHIONESS. The Story of a Child's Faith and Love. DICK IN THE DESERT. By James Otis. DIVIDED SKATES. By Evelyn Raymond. GOLDEN KEY. By George MacDonald. GOLD THREAD. By Norman McLeod. HALF A DOZEN THINKING CAPS. By Mary F. Leonard. HOW THE TWINS CAPTURED A HESSIAN. By James Otis. HOW TOMMY SAVED THE BARN. By James Otis. I CAN SCHOOL. By Eva A. Madden. J. COLE. By Emma Gellibrand. JESSICA'S FIRST PRAYER. By Hesba Stretton. KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER. By John Ruskin. LADDIE. By Evelyn Whitaker. LITTLE FORESTERS. By Clarence Hawkes. LITTLE PETER. By Lucas Malet. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. By Miss Mulock. MASTER FRISKY. By Clarence Hawkes. MASTER SUNSHINE. By Mrs. C. F. Fraser. MISS DE PEYSTER'S BOY. By Etheldred B. Barry. MISS TOOSEY'S MISSION. By Evelyn Whitaker. MOLLY. By Barbara Yechton. MUSICAL JOURNEY OF DOROTHY AND DELIA. By Bradley Gilman. OUR UNCLE THE MAJOR. By James Otis. PAIR OF THEM. By Evelyn Raymond. PLAYGROUND TONI. By Anna Chapin Ray. PLAY LADY. By Ella Farman Pratt. PRINCE PRIGIO. By Andrew Lang. RIVERPARK REBELLION. By Homer Greene. SHORT CRUISE. By James Otis. SMOKY DAYS. By Edward W. Thomson. SNAPDRAGONS. By Mrs. J. H. Ewing. STEPHEN. A Story of the Little Crusaders. By Eva A. Madden. STRAWBERRY HILL. By Mrs. C. F. Fraser. SUNBEAMS AND MOONBEAMS. By Louise R. Baker. TALE OF THE TOW PATH. By Homer Greene. THE TRUTH ABOUT SANTA CLAUS. By Charlotte M. Vaile. TWO AND ONE. By Charlotte M. Vaile. WHISPERING TONGUES. By Homer Greene. WONDER SHIP. By Sophie Swett. WRECK OF THE CIRCUS. By James Otis. YOUNG BOSS. By Edward W. Thomson.

  THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY, Publishers, 426-428 West Broadway, New York

  Transcriber's Notes:

  --Text in italics is enclosed by und
erscores (_italics_).

  --Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.

  --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

  --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.