“Yes; but they may not have gone together, after all. Or if they have gone together, perhaps Joe had some errand that we don’t know about, and will come back soon. Maybe he hasn’t gone at all, but is somewhere about the place now. Don’t let’s accuse him before we know!”
“You are right; we’ll find the proof first.”
Mr. Gaston went to the door and called the hired man.
“Ralph,” he said, “don’t say anything for the present about this. We think some mistake has been made. But you may just make a quiet search for the horse around the farm and the neighborhood, and let me know if you find any trace of him.
“Now,” he continued, turning back into the house, “we will search for evidence. Let us go first to Joe’s room and see what we can find there.”
Together the father and mother mounted the stairs to the little east room, and looked about.
On a stand in the corner Mrs. Gaston discovered something that, in her former hurried search, had escaped her notice. It was a note in Joe’s handwriting, written carefully in pencil, and it read as follows:
Dear Mother,—I am going away. Father is too hard on me. I will come back to see you when I am twenty-one if Father will let me. Forgive me for making you feel bad, and for being an ungrateful boy. Good-by,
Joe.
She read the note, handed it to her husband, and, sinking into a chair, burst into tears.