“Here,” he said to Joe; “come in here. I want to talk with you.” On the threshold the superintendent turned to look at Captain Bill. “Are you going to institute proceedings against this boy? If you are, he will be placed under bonds, and I shall become his bondsman. If you are not going to prosecute him, you may go straight back to your boat,” he said sharply. “And if I hear of your dealing in stolen horses again, or abusing any more boys, this canal company will dispense with your services on very short notice.” Rosencamp, disappointed, cowed, more angry than ever, knowing that he could not prosecute Joe, made his way to the door and out to the tow-path amid the jeers of the waiting crowd. He mounted his horse, and rode away. Fifteen minutes later Joe and the superintendent came out from the private office. It was evident that the boy had been weeping; but in his eyes there was a look of gladness and firmness that expressed, more plainly than words could have done, the condition of his mind. “Matthew,” said the superintendent, “tell the stable-man to get this boy’s horse, put a saddle and bridle on him, and bring him here. Have him get out a horse for you, for I want you to go with the boy as far as Darbytown. From there he knows the way home, and can go alone.” That afternoon, while the sun was still high, Joe and Old Charlie were on the highway not far from their home. Matthew had left them at Darbytown, after getting a good dinner for all of them, and now they were travelling homeward alone. The old horse jogged on, trotting or walking as he liked, stopping at the roadside now and then to nibble at a tempting bunch of grass or a bit of fresh foliage, or to plunge his nose into the cooling waters of a wayside stream. Even now, however, they were not making very slow time on the whole; and earlier in the day they had gone faster. It had seemed to Joe that he could not wait till the white front of the old farmhouse should come into sight from the top of Hickory Hill. The eager anticipation of his return to the dear old home had heightened his spirits, and brightened his eyes. But after Matthew left him he began to think; and the more deeply he thought, the slower became his progress. Many suspicions and misgivings had come into his mind. He no longer paid heed to the beauty of the day, the splendor of the sun, or the rich luxuriance of the early autumn foliage. He was looking only into his own heart. He was thinking only of his inexcusable folly and wickedness in leaving so good a home. He was wondering what his father would say to him; how his mother would receive him; whether his little sister would ever again care to play with him as of old. He was wondering, indeed, if his parents would wish to have him come home at all, disgraced as he was; if the door of his father’s house would not be shut and barred against him forever. “Hello, ther! W’at’s the matter wi’ ye?”