The father had passed down the stairs and out at the door, while mother and daughter sat long together, mingling their tears over the unhappy fate of the boy whom both had idolized, and whose strange folly had made him, to all intents and purposes, an exile from his home. CHAPTER III. ON THE CANAL. It is at Rondout that the Delaware and Hudson Canal, reaching across from the anthracite-coal regions of Pennsylvania, touches tide-water on the Hudson. It is here that the bulky canal-boats, having discharged their cargoes of coal, turn their bows again to the westward. From the low-lying lands at the river’s edge the mouth of Rondout Creek curves back into the hills, forming for miles a safe, broad harbor. On the northerly shore of the creek is the wharf. On the left side of this wharf long lines of canal-boats are tied to the wharf posts, and fastened one to another. On the right, canal stores, blacksmith’s shops, and stables extend as far as the eye can reach. In the early morning, before the activities of the day have begun, this wharf is a deserted and forbidding place, and on one such early morning in September, with chill air and cloudy skies, and not even a rose tint in the dull east, there was no one to be seen throughout the whole length of the wharf save one slowly moving boy. This boy was so dull and miserable in appearance as to be hardly noticeable against the general dulness around him. His clothing was ragged and dusty, his shoes were out at both heel and toe. The battered hat, pulled well down over his eyes, shaded a haggard and a hungry face. His mother herself would scarcely have recognized this scarecrow as Joe Gaston. What his hardships and sufferings had been since that June morning when he angrily left his home, his appearance told more eloquently than words can describe them. Many and many a day he had longed for the good and wholesome food he knew was on his father’s table. Many and many a night, as he lay under some unwelcoming roof, or still oftener with the open sky above him, he had dreamed of that gentle mother who used always to fold the soft covering over him, and give him the good-night kiss. But a few days before our meeting with him here on the canal Joe had met, on the public road, a roving wood-sawyer who recognized him. They walked together a long way. The man, who had sawed wood for Joe’s father several times, had been at the homestead since Joe’s departure. He seemed surprised not to find the horse with Joe, and he finally asked the boy what he had done with him. He was still more surprised when he learned that Joe had not had Old Charlie, and knew nothing about the theft. But poor Joe! It touched him to the quick to learn, as he did, that at home he was regarded as a horse-thief. It was this that he brooded over now, day and night. To think that they should accuse him of stealing Old Charlie!