“I can’t think anything has happened to him, mother. If he had been on the water, or anything of that kind, I should feel worse about it.”
“If I only knew where he was, I shouldn’t feel so bad about it,” said she; and her position, certainly, was a reasonable one.
“What’s the matter, sister?” called gran’ther Greene, from his chamber. “Hasn’t that boy got home yet?”
“No, he hasn’t come yet, and I am worried to death about him,” replied Mrs. Somers, opening the door of her brother’s room.
“What o’clock is it?”
“After twelve. Thomas never stayed out so late in his life before. What do you suppose has become of him?”
“Law sake! I haven’t the leastest idea,” answered the old man. “Thomas is a smart boy, and knows enough to keep out of trouble.”
“That’s what I say,” added John, who had unlimited confidence in his brother’s ability to take care of himself.
“I’ll tell you what I think, John,” said Mrs. Somers, throwing herself into her chair with an air of desperation.
But she did not tell John what she thought: on the contrary, she sat rocking herself in silence, as though her thought was too big and too momentous for utterance.