Hastily dressing himself, and then taking from his desk paper and pen, he wrote:
You have told me to get out of your sight, father. I shall. You will never see me again. You need not search for me. I am going to try and find my mother. When Eddie is better, you will hear the truth, and feel your injustice to Willie.
Folding this, and leaving it on his table, he stole down and made his way into town, not quite determined what to do. His first thought was to seek the river, and in its quiet waters end his sorrows. Oh! why would not death come to him?
How quiet the city was! Usually so many were stirring about at that hour. No market wagons or bread carts about. Oh, now he remembered, it was Thanksgiving Day.
On he walked, and then came in sight of the church where his mother used to go, and then memories of all her holy teachings. Should he find her if he attempted self-destruction?
What could he do? He could not live on! Surely God would forgive him!
Then he thought he would go once more into that church, and then—Heaven only knows what next. Waiting in the park until church time, he retraced his steps and reached the door just as the beautiful hymn, "Come, ye disconsolate," rose into the air.
Going in while the words
"Here bring your wounded hearts"
filled his ear, he crept up into the gallery and seated himself near the choir.