THE WAY IS PREPARED.
"Where do you suppose Thomas is?" said Mrs. Somers, as she glanced at the
clock, which indicated half-past nine.
"I don't know," replied John. "He can't be a great ways off. I saw him in
front of the squire's house when the committee went in."
"The boy's gone down to the Harbor again with the rest of the folks,
talking about the war," added gran'ther Greene, as he rose from his chair,
and hobbled into his chamber adjoining the kitchen.
At ten o'clock, the mother began to be a little uneasy; and at eleven,
even John had some fears that all was not well with his brother. Neither
of them was able to suggest anything that could possibly have happened to
the absentee. There had been no battle fought, and so nobody could have
been killed. There had been no violence used in the transactions of the
evening further than breaking in the front door of Squire Pemberton, so
that it was not easy to believe that any accident had happened to him.
John had given a glowing account of the proceedings at the house of the
squire and the family had been much interested and excited by the stirring
narrative. His mother was perfectly satisfied, as no one had been injured,
and hoped the great man of Pinchbrook would be brought to his senses. All
these topics had been fully discussed during the evening. John had
informed his mother that Captain Benson, who had formerly commanded the
Pinchbrook Riflemen, intended to raise a company for the war. He mentioned
the names of half a dozen young men who had expressed their desire to
join. The family had suggested that this and that man would go, and thus
the long evening passed away.
"I don't see what has become of Thomas," said Mrs. Somers, when the clock
struck eleven, as she rose from her chair and looked out of the window.
"Well, I don't see, either," replied John. "I don't believe there is
anything going on at this time of night."
"I hope nothing has happened to him," continued the anxious mother, as she
went to the door and looked out, hoping, perhaps, to discover him in the
gloom of the night, or to hear his familiar step.
"What could have happened to him?" asked John, who did not believe his
brother was fool enough to fall overboard, or permit any serious accident
to happen to him.
"I don't know. I can't see what has got the boy. He always comes home
before nine o'clock. Have you heard him say anything that will give you an
idea where he is?"
"He hasn't said anything to me."
"Try, and see if you can't think of something," persisted the anxious
mother.
"He hasn't talked of anything but the war since yesterday morning."
"What did he say?"
"I don't know, now," answered John, musing. "He said he should like to
join the army, and go down and fight the rebels."
Mrs. Somers had heard as much from him, but she had given no particular
attention to his remarks on this subject, for they seemed wild and
visionary. John's words, under the present circumstances, appeared to be
full of importance; and taking her stocking, she seated herself before the
stove, and resumed her knitting. She was silent now, for her heart was
heavy with the premonitions of impending trouble.
"I will take a walk down to the Harbor, mother, and see if I can find
anything of him. There may be something going on there that I don't know
about. He may be at the store, talking about the war with Captain Barney
and the rest of the folks."
Mrs. Somers offered no objection to this plan, and John put on his cap,
and left the house. The poor mother brooded upon her trouble for another
hour, and with every new moment, the trouble seemed more real. The clock
struck twelve before John returned; and more than once during his absence,
as she plied her needles, she had wiped away a tear that hung among the
furrows of her care-worn cheek. She had been thinking of her husband, as
well as of her son. He was, or soon would be, in the midst of the
traitors, and she trembled for him. Uncle Wyman was a secessionist; and,
beyond this, she had not much confidence in his integrity, and if Captain
Somers came home at all, his property would all be swept away, and he
would be a beggar.
The events of that day were not calculated to conciliate Squire Pemberton
towards them, and the farm and the cottage would pass away from them. All
these things had been considered and reconsidered by the devoted mother.
Poverty and want seemed to stare her in the face; and to add to all these
troubles, Thomas did not come home, and, as fond mothers will, she
anticipated the worst.
John entered the kitchen, and carelessly flung his cap upon the table.
Mrs. Somers looked at him, and waited patiently to hear any intelligence
he might bring. But John threw himself into a chair, looking more gloomy
than before he left the house. He did not speak, and therefore he had no
good news to tell.
"You didn't see anything of him--did you?" asked Mrs. Somers; but it was a
useless question, for she had already interpreted the meaning of his
downcast looks.
"No, mother; there isn't a man, woman, or child stirring in the village;
and I didn't see a light in a single house."
"What do you suppose can have become of him?"
"I'm sure I don't know. Tom is old enough and smart enough to take care of
himself."
"It's very strange."
"So it is. I haven't any idea what has become of him."
"Did you look around Squire Pemberton's house, where he was seen last?"
"I looked about on both sides of the road, going and coming from the
Harbor. I whistled all the way, and if he had been any where round, he
would have whistled back, as he always does."
"What do you _suppose_ has become of him?" demanded the poor mother,
worried beyond expression at the mysterious disappearance of her son.
"I can't tell, mother."
"Don't you think we had better call up the neighbors, and have something
done about it?"
"I don't know," replied John, hardly less anxious than his mother.
"I don't suppose they would be able to find him if we did," added Mrs.
Somers, wiping away the tears from her face.
"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.
"Well, what do you think, mother?" asked John, when he had waited a
reasonable time for her to express her opinion on the exciting topic.
Mrs. Somers rocked herself more violently than before, and made no reply.
"What were you going to say?"
"I think the boy has gone off to Boston, and gone into the army," replied
she, desperately, as though she had fully made up her mind to commit
herself to this belief.
"Do you think so, mother?"
"I feel almost sure of it."
"I don't think so, mother. Tom wouldn't have gone off without saying
something to me about it."
"If he wouldn't say it to me, he wouldn't be likely to say it to you,
John. It don't look a bit like Thomas to go off and leave his mother in
this way," moaned the poor woman, wiping away a deluge of tears that now
poured from her eyes.
"I don't believe he has done any such thing, mother," protested John.
"I feel almost certain about it, now. If the boy wanted to go, and
couldn't stay at home, he ought to have told me so."
"He did say he wanted to go."
"I didn't think he really meant it. I want my boys to love their country,
and be ready to fight for it. Much as I should hate to part with them, if
they are needed, they may go; but I don't like to have them run away and
leave me in this mean way. I shouldn't feel half so bad if I knew Thomas
was in the army now, as I do to think he ran away from home, just as
though he had done some mean thing. I am willing he should go, and he
wouldn't be a son of mine if he wasn't ready to go and fight for his
country, and die for her too, if there was any need of it. I didn't think
Thomas would serve me in this way."
"I don't believe he has."
"I know he's gone. I like his spunk, but if he had only come to me and
said he _must_ go, I wouldn't have said a word; but to go off without
bidding us good by--it's too bad, and I didn't think Thomas would do such
a thing."
Mrs. Somers rose from her chair, and paced the room in the highest state
of agitation and excitement. The rockers were not adequate to the duty
required of them, and nothing less than the whole floor of the kitchen was
sufficient for the proper venting of her emotion.
"Do you mean to say, mother, that you would have given him leave to go,
even if he had teased you for a month?" asked John.
"Certainly I should," replied his mother, stopping short in the middle of
the floor. "I'm ready and willing to have my boys fight for their country,
but I don't want them to sneak off as though they had been robbing a
hen-roost, and without even saying good by to me."
"If Tom were here, do you mean to say you would let him go?" demanded
John, earnestly.
"Certainly I do; I mean so. But I don't think there is any need of boys
like him going, when there are men enough to do the fighting."
"You told Tom he shouldn't go."
"Well, I didn't think he really meant it. If he had--What's that, John?"
asked she, suddenly, as a noise at the window attracted her attention.
"Only the cat, mother."
"If Thomas or you had asked me in earnest, and there was need of your
going, I wouldn't have kept either of you at home. I would go to the
poorhouse first. My father and my brother both fought for their country,
and my sons shall when their country wants them."
"Then you are willing Tom should go?"
"I am, but not to have him sneak off like a sheep-stealer."
"Three cheers for you, mother!" shouted Thomas, as he threw up the window
at which he had been standing for some ten minutes listening to this
interesting conversation.
"Where have you been, Thomas?" exclaimed the delighted mother.
"Open the door, Jack, and let me in, and I will tell you all about it,"
replied the absentee.
"Come in; the door isn't locked," said John.
He came in; and what he had to tell will interest the reader as well as
his mother and his brother.