“Father,” sobbed his wife, “you will go after Joe, won’t you? You’ll find him, and bring him back, won’t you?” It seemed to her a long time before he answered her. “I believe,” he said at last, “that when a boy runs away from a good home, it is better, as a rule, to let him go, and find out his mistake; he’s sure to find it out in a very short time. If he is followed and threatened and forced, he will come back sullen and angry, and will make up his mind to go again at the first chance.” “But if he’s followed and reasoned with and persuaded?” said the mother, appealingly. “If he is followed and reasoned with and persuaded,” answered the father, “he will get a great notion of his own importance. He will believe that he has gained his point, and will come back impudent and overbearing.” “But think what harm may come to him,--what suffering!” “Probably he will suffer. There’s no easy way to learn the lesson he must learn. If I could save him from the suffering that his folly is sure to bring on him, and at the same time feel sure that he has really repented and is bound to do better, I would go to the end of the earth to find him. But we’ll talk about that later. There’s no doubt now that Joe’s gone. Let us see if we can find out anything about the horse. It will make a difference if he has taken him.” But the good woman could not yet give up her appeal in behalf of her boy. “You won’t be too harsh with him, Father? You won’t allow him to suffer too much? If he don’t come back soon, you’ll go and find him, won’t you,--if he don’t come back by the end of next week? He isn’t strong, you know, and he’s so sensitive. And I can’t think he intended to do anything wrong; I can’t think it! I will not believe it!” They were passing through the upper hall to the head of the staircase. When they came near to the dark closet that opened on the landing, they were startled by the strange noise that proceeded from behind the door,--a noise as of some one sobbing. Mr. Gaston threw open the closet door and peered into the darkness, while his wife stood behind him, half-frightened, looking over his shoulder. “Why!” he exclaimed, when his eyes had adapted themselves to the inner gloom, “it’s Jennie!” “Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Gaston, in another fright. “Jennie,” said Mr. Gaston, sternly, “come right out. What does this mean?” Poor Jennie, her eyes red with weeping and with anguish written all over her tear-marked face, rose from her seat on an old chest, and came into the light of the hall. She began to sob again as though her heart would break. “What does this mean?” repeated her father. “N--nothing,” sobbed Jennie, “only I--I--” “See here!” exclaimed her father, “did you know that Joe had gone away?” “I--I was afraid he had.” “Did you know he intended to go?” asked her father, sternly. “Why, he--he told me yesterday that he--was--” “Going to run away?” “Ye--yes.”