And he was gone, his straight young shoulders bent.
He had suffered hardship and disappointment, but nothing had torn his heart like this. They must have written, they could not have been so cruel as to have forgotten him. It was a common thing for letters to be lost.
He read Sarah's letter once more as he strode along. She said that Uncle Daniel was after them, and that she had chased Jacob Kalb off with a gun. He knew Uncle Daniel's stern determination to have his own way, he knew how he coveted the farm, he knew Jacob's meanness. After that he ran until he came to the schoolhouse door. That, he found, was closed.
He rapped heavily; there was no answer. Then he looked in the window. The room was empty. As he was turning away in despair, he heard some one calling him.
"The school is closed. It won't be open till to-morrow. Miss Miflin went away."
It was the woman who lived in the next house. She had been a schoolmate of his when he was a little boy.
"Miss Miflin?" he repeated slowly. "Is she here yet? Don't you know me, Sallie?"
"No," answered the woman. "I—Why, William!" She had both his hands in hers, and could only stare at him speechlessly. "Why, William! What am I so glad to—" Then she, too, began to cry. "I can't help it, William. I am so sorry for you. I—"