“I don't see nothin' but a bit of paper,” said her husband.
“Don't be a fool! Read what it is.”
“Read it aloud. I ain't got my specks.”
“The boys have run away. Abner writ it. Listen to this.”
Rudely written on the paper, for Abner was by no means a skillful penman, were these words:
“Bub and I have runned away. You needn't worry. I reckon we can get along. We're going to make our fortunes. When we're rich, we'll come back. ABNER.”
“What do you think of that, Joel Barton?” demanded his wife.
Joel shrugged his shoulders.
“I shan't worry much,” he said. “They'll be back by to-morrer, likely.”
“Then you'll have to split some wood to-day, Joel. You can't expect a delicate woman like me to do such rough work.”