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 over ye. She went around makin’ out’t ye never stole that hoss; said ye’d be 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, I guess 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 question unanswered. He was struggling now with a great lump in his throat that was 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. She don’t da’s’t talk about ye to hum, ye know, but w’en she’s away she kind o’ finds opportetunities to discuss the subjec’. ’Twa’n’t but last week she says to me over to Williams’s place, says she, ‘It’s awful lonesome without Joe,’ she says. ‘I wisht he’d come back an’ be a good boy,’ says she. ‘Aint it sad about his goin’ away so?’ she says. ‘Do you think he’ll come back agin soon, Uncle Billy?’ says she. An’ I says, ‘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 had tried. The lump in his throat seemed to have dissolved into tears; they filled his eyes, and ran freely down his face.
The old man saw that the boy was crying, and for a moment seemed to repent 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.”