deacon?" asked Mrs. Hopkins. "Couldn't you
wake him up?"

"He wasn't there."

"Wasn't where?"

"In bed."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Sam's got up already. I couldn't find him."

"Couldn't find him?"

"No, Martha."

"Had the bed been slept in?"

"Of course. I s'pose he was sick, and couldn't sleep, so he went
downstairs."

"Perhaps he's gone down to the pantry," said Mrs. Hopkins,
suspiciously. "I'll go down and see."

She went downstairs, followed by the deacon. She instituted an
examination, but found Sam guiltless of a fresh attempt upon the
provision department. She went to the front door, and found it
unlocked.

"He's gone out," she said.

"So he has, but I guess he'll be back to breakfast," said the deacon.

"I don't," said the lady.

"Why not?"

"Because I think he's run away."

"Run away!" exclaimed the deacon. "Why, I never had a boy run away
from me."

"Well, you have now."

"Where would he go? He aint no home. He wouldn't go to the
poorhouse."

"Of course not. I never heard of anybody that had a comfortable home
running away to the poorhouse."

"But why should he run away?" argued the deacon.

"Boys often run away," said his wife, sententiously.

"He had no cause."

"Yes, he had. You made him work, and he's lazy, and don't like work.
I'm not surprised at all."

"I s'pose I'd better go after him," said the deacon.

"Don't you stir a step to go, deacon. He aint worth going after. I'm
glad we've got rid of him."

"Well, he didn't do much work," admitted the deacon.

"While he ate enough for two boys. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I
say."

"I don't know how he's goin' to get along. He didn't have no money."

"I don't care how he gets along, as long as he don't come back.
There's plenty of better boys you can get."

Sam would not have felt flattered, if he had heard this final verdict
upon his merits. It must be confessed, however, that it was well
deserved.

A few days afterwards, the deacon obtained the services of another
boy, whom he found more satisfactory than the runaway, and Sam was no
longer missed. It was not till the tenth day that he learned of the
theft. While riding on that day, he met Mr. Comstock, who had confided
to Sam the money-letter.

"Good-morning, Deacon Hopkins," said he, stopping his horse.

"Good-morning," said the deacon.

"I suppose your boy handed you a letter from me."

"I haven't received any letter," said the deacon, surpri