Mrs. Gaston’s white face and eager eyes, fixed on the point where the road 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 into sight, 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 hand clasped 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 around him, and Jennie was laughing and crying and clinging to his neck.
Then the good old horse, pushing his nose in among the four faces that he loved, met with a welcome that was no less sincere.
“He made me come,” explained Joe, a minute later. “I got to the top of the hill, and my courage gave out, and I didn’t dare come down, and I thought I would ride back on the road a piece farther, and then turn the horse loose and let him come home, while I went on afoot; but Old Charlie would come, whether or no, and—”
Joe’s voice gave out. Every one cried a little. Even Squire Bidwell and the deputy sheriff and Callipers had tears in their eyes. Mr. Gaston’s face, even with the tear-marks on it, was radiant.