Then Mrs. Thatcher had a chance to look at the boy from whom she had been separated for a year.
“You have grown taller, Tom,” she said.
“Yes, mother, I am at least two inches taller.”
Then she examined his clothes. They were well worn; in fact, they were shabby. It was clear that Tom had not been successful. But what of that? She had him back, and that was better than all.
“Well, Tom,” she said, “you didn’t find it pay going to California?”
Tom smiled.
“I am glad I went, though I did have a hard time getting there.”
“Why didn’t you write?”
“On the plains there were no post-offices, or scarcely any. Then, again, I was captured by the Indians, and kept a prisoner for three months.”
Mrs. Thatcher uttered a little cry.