“Well there now!” was the reply; “that gal--I didn’t think o’ her. She don’t da’s’t talk about ye to hum, ye know, but w’en she’s away she kind o’ finds opportetunities to discuss the subjec’. ’Twa’n’t but last week she says to me over to Williams’s place, says she, ‘It’s awful lonesome without Joe,’ she says. ‘I wisht he’d come back an’ be a good boy,’ says she. ‘Aint it sad about his goin’ away so?’ she says. ‘Do you think he’ll come back agin soon, Uncle Billy?’ says she. An’ I says, ‘No, he won’t never come back agin. He’s gone too fur,’ says I, ‘in more ways ’an one,’ says I. What ye think o’ that? Hey?” But this time Joe could not have answered the question if he had tried. The lump in his throat seemed to have dissolved into tears; they filled his eyes, and ran freely down his face. The old man saw that the boy was crying, and for a moment seemed to repent his hardness of heart. “I’m sorry for ye, sonny,” said Uncle Billy, after an awkward pause; “but I tell ye they aint no use o’ yer goin’ hum; they don’t ixpect ye, an’ they don’t want ye.” Still Joe sat, weeping and speechless. “Well,” the old man added, “I must be joggin’ on. Somebody might come along an’ see us two together, an’--well, I’ve got a reppytation to lose, ye know.” He burst into a shrill cackling laugh, grasped his twisted cane more firmly, and hobbled on around a bend in the road and out of sight. Old Charlie, unheeded by his young master, started on. The sun sank till the light it threw on the green September foliage was mellow and golden. From somewhere in the distance came the ting-a-ling of a cow-bell, as the herd wandered slowly home. The sound and the memories it brought started fresh tears into Joe’s eyes, and when the mist they occasioned had cleared away he found himself on the summit of Hickory Hill. Down in the valley, half-hidden by trees, he saw the white front of his home. Behind it rose the gray roofs of the barns; before it stretched the yellow road; on it fell the soft light of the dying day. He had drawn the reins and sat looking down on it, while Old Charlie, pricking up his ears in glad recognition of the familiar sight, pawed the ground impatiently. “No,” Joe said, at last, “we won’t go on. It’s no use. I’m sorry, but--it’s no use.” He turned the horse’s head, and Joe and Charlie started back. CHAPTER VI. OLD CHARLIE BRINGS BACK JOE. On the day Joe left home his mother put his room in order for him as usual, and placed on the table a little bouquet of red and white geraniums and verbenas. She could not believe that he would be gone over night, and she knew that when he came he would be tired, broken, repentant, and grateful for the least mark of tenderness. She delayed supper beyond the hour, in the hope that he might come. Even after the others had forced themselves to eat, she set aside enough for Joe.