Day after day Herbert and Abner went to the post office and inquired
for letters, but alas! none came. Poor Herbert was in despair. He
thought his father would have instantly sent the money, or come out
himself to take him home. Was it possible his father had forgotten
him, or was indifferent to his absence? He could not believe it, but
what was he to think?
“I reckon your father didn't get the letter,” suggested Abner.
Herbert hailed this suggestion with relief.
“Or, maybe, marm has told the postmaster to give her any letters
that come.”
This suggestion, too, seemed not improbable.
“What can we do?” asked Herbert, helplessly. “I reckon we'd better
run away.”
“Without money?”
“We'll hire out to somebody for a week or two and write from where
we are.”
“I'm afraid I couldn't do much work,” said the little boy.
“Then I'll work for both,” said Abner, stoutly. “I've got tired of
stayin' at home, anyway.”
“I'll do whatever you say,” said Herbert, feeling that any change
would be for the better.
“I'll tell you when I'm ready,” said Abner. “We'll start some time
when marm's gone to the village.”
There was another reason for Herbert's being dissatisfied with his
new home. A month had passed--the full time for which Willis Ford
had paid the boy's board--and there were no indications that any
more was to be paid. During the the first week the fare had been
tolerable, though Mrs. Barton was not a skillful cook; but now there
was no money left, and the family fell back upon what their limited
resources could supply. Mush and milk now constituted their
principal diet. It is well enough occasionally, but, when furnished
at every meal, both Herbert and Abner became tired of it.
“Haven't you got anything else for dinner, marm?” asked Abner,
discontentedly.
“No, I haven't,” answered the mother, snappishly.
“You used to have sassiges and bacon.”
“That was when I had money to buy 'em.”
“Where's all that money gone the man left with him?” indicating
Herbert.
“It's spent, and I wish Willis Ford would send along some more
mighty quick. He needn't expect me to take a free boarder.”
She looked severely at Herbert, as if he were in fault. Certainly
the poor boy had no desire to live on the liberality of Mrs. Barton.
“Maybe he's sent you some money in a letter,” suggested Abner.
“Well, I never thought of that. It's a bright idee, ef it did come
from you, Abner Barton. Jest go up to the postoffice after dinner,
and ask if there's any letter for me. Ef there is, mind you, don't
open it.”
“All right, marm.”
“Come along, bub,” said Abner.
This was the name he gave to Herbert, whom he liked in his own rough
way.
“I don't think,” said Herbert, as they walked along, “that your
mother can have got any letter written by my father. If she had, she
would not be out of money.”
“I reckon you're right. Do you think that Ford feller will send
money for your board?”
“I think he will, if he can, for he wants to keep me here; but I
don't think he has much money with him.”
“All the worse for marm.”
“Abner,” said Herbert, after a pause, during which he had been
thinking seriously, “would you mind running away pretty soon?”
“No, bub; I'm ready any time. Are you in a hurry?”
“You see, Abner, I don't want to live on your mother. She isn't
rich--”
“No, I guess not. Ef she hadn't married sech a good-for-nothin' as
dad--”
“I wouldn't speak so of your father, Abner.”
“Why not? Isn't it the truth? Dad's no grit. He gits drunk whenever
he has a chance. Marm's a good, hard-workin' woman. She'd git along
well enough ef she was alone.”
“At any rate, she can't afford to board me for nothing. So I am
ready to start whenever you are, Abner.”
“Suppose we get up early to-morror and start?”
“How early?”
“Three o'clock. Marm gets up at five. We must be on the road before
that time.”
“I'm willing, Abner. You must wake me up in time.”
“You'd better go to bed early, bub, and git all the sleep you can.
We'll have a hard day to-morrer.”