treet--it was his own--and what of his soul? He started as if bitten
by a serpent, and hurried on.

The village was soon reached; whither should he go? Conscience said,
"home;" but home was desolate. He was soon at the public-house door; he
could meet with a rude sympathy there--he could tell his tale, he could
cheer him with the blaze and the gas, he could stupify down his remorse
with the drink. Conscience again whispered, "Home," but so feebly, that
his own footstep forward quenched its voice. He entered, and sat down
among the drinkers.

And what of his poor wife and daughter?

Johnson had not left his home many minutes when Betty came in.

"Where's Sammul?" she asked, not noticing her mother's agitation; "and
where's fayther? We're like to have weary work in our house just now, I
reckon."

"Betty!"--was all that her mother could say, but in such a voice that
her daughter started round and cried,--

"Eh, mother, what is't? what ails you?"

"See there," replied the poor woman, pointing to the little packet still
lying on the table; "that's what ails me."

Betty took it up; she saw the money and the lock of hair; she read the
words--it was all plain to her in a moment. She stood open-mouthed,
with her eyes staring on the paper as one spell-bound, then she burst
out into a bitter cry,--

"Oh, mother, mother! it cannot be, it cannot be! he wouldn't leave us
so! Oh, Sammul, Sammul, what must we do? It's the drink has done it--
fayther's drink has done it! I shall never see you, Sammul, any more!
Mother," she suddenly added, dropping the apron which she had lifted to
her streaming eyes, "where's fayther? Does _he_ know?"

"Yes; he knows well enough; he's off to your Uncle John's. Oh, what
_shall_ we do if he doesn't bring our Sammul back? But where are you
going, child?" for Betty had thrown her shawl over her head, and was
moving towards the door. "It's no use your going too; tarry by the
hearth-stone till your fayther comes back, and then, if he hasn't heard
anything of Sammul, we'll see what must be done."

"I cannot tarry here, mother; I cannot," was Betty's reply. "Fayther'll
do no good; if Sammul sees him coming, he'll just step out of the road,
or crouch him down behind summat till he's gone by. I must go myself;
he'll not be afraid of me. Oh, sure he'll ne'er go right away without
one `Good-bye' to his own sister! Maybe he'll wait about till he sees
me; and, please the Lord, if I can