“Mother,” he said, “running away from home was the worst day’s work I ever did. I was a fool to do it, and I’ve got pretty well punished for it. You’ve no idea what a hard time I’ve had. I gave myself up for dead more than once; but I’ll tell you about that this evening, perhaps, when we’re all together. I meant to have brought money enough home to pay back what I took, but I lost everything when we were wrecked.”
“No matter about that,” said Mrs. Preston; “we never shall think of that again, so long as you have got home alive.”
“What do you suppose father will say to me?” inquired Jerry, with some hesitation; for he had serious doubts as to the kind of reception his father would give him.
“He will think you have risen from the dead; I don’t believe he has the least idea that you’re in the land of the living,” replied his mother, evading a direct answer to the question.
“Do you suppose he will be glad to see me?” inquired Jerry.
“Certainly I do; I can’t imagine how it could be otherwise,” replied Mrs. Preston. After a moment’s pause, she added, “Your father is peculiar about some things; he doesn’t always show his feelings. But I’ve no doubt he’ll be as rejoiced as any of us at your return, whether he says so or not.”
Jerry sat silently speculating upon this reply to his question, while his mother was busy in pantry and cellar, collecting all the good things in the house to prepare a feast for the returned prodigal. To tell the truth, he had serious doubts whether his father would be glad to see him, for he was a stern and seemingly cold man, who did not look with much charity upon the faults of others, and was slow to forgive those who had offended him.
Mr. Preston divided his time between farming and logging. In the summer, he carried on his farm, in the small and retired town of Brookdale. In the fall, he went into the forests in the northern part of Maine, where he usually remained until spring. A gang of men accompanied him, and they formed a camp in the woods, where they lived all winter in a very primitive way. Their business was to cut down trees, trim off the branches, and haul the logs to the river. On the breaking up of the ice in the spring, these logs were floated down the stream to the mill, where they were sawn into lumber.
It was during his father’s absence at the logging camp that Jerry ran away from his home. He was at that time nearly fourteen years old. He had for some time been growing lazy, restless, and unmanageable, so that his mother could not do much with him. His character had suffered greatly from intimacy with a cousin of his, about a year older than himself, named Oscar Preston. Oscar belonged in Boston, but falling into bad habits, his father thought it would benefit him to send him away from the city for a season. So he lived with his uncle’s family, in Brookdale, for several months. His character did not improve, however, and he was finally obliged to leave the State to avoid trial on a charge of setting fire to a wood-lot, his father at the same time paying over one hundred dollars, damages and costs, to effect his release.