"Oh, I know, but I can stand more than you think," pleaded Fred.
"Besides that, it wouldn't be right," added Randy. "You ran away from home, and it's your duty to go back."
"Oh, don't preach. My father doesn't care where I am."
"Yes, he does, Fred; he cares a good deal. And then your mother must be worried, too."
At the mention of his mother, Fred Dobson's face changed color for a moment, and when next he spoke there seemed to be a suspicious lump in his throat.
"I—I'm going to send mother a letter; I'll write it to-night."
"You should have written long ago, Fred."
"Oh, don't preach. Then you won't speak to your uncle?" And the squire's son looked into Randy's face wistfully.
"Yes, I'll speak to him; but it won't do any good, Fred."
It was not long after this that Foster Portney and Earl came back, having hired an extra room for the time desired. The uncle had been introduced to Fred, and now he invited the runaway to take supper with them.