“A good start, Callipers, me boy,” he said to himself. “You mind your bloomin’ eye an’ you’re all right. It don’t do to lose your ’ead an’ go too fast, or go too fast an’ lose your ’ead.” In the mean time, back at the farm the cattle had begun to stir about in the barnyard with the lifting of the night shadows. It was broad daylight before the hired man went up through the gate with two gleaming tin pails in his hands. Smoke rose from the chimney of the farmhouse kitchen; the household was astir. Every one was about but Joe. His mother had not yet called him. She thought to let him sleep a little later than usual. Yesterday had been such a bitter day for him! “Where’s Joe?” asked Mr. Gaston, coming into the kitchen. “Isn’t he up yet?” “No,” replied the mother. “He wasn’t feeling very well last night, and I thought I wouldn’t call him till breakfast was all ready.” “Mother,” said the farmer, “I’m afraid you’re indulging the boy in lazy habits. He oughtn’t to be left in bed later just because he misbehaved yesterday.” “Well,” she said, “he was really feeling almost sick last night.” Little Jennie, whose eyes were red from weeping, and whose face was pale with anxiety, listened timidly to the conversation, and then stole softly from the room. What would happen when it was found that Joe had gone? What would happen when it was found that he had taken Old Charlie? This was the burden of her thought and fear. Whatever it might be, she knew she had not the courage to face it, so she crept away to hide herself and to weep out her grief. “If Joe was sick last night,” the farmer went on, “it was just because he was disobedient and had to be whipped. I hope he’s in a better frame of mind this morning. It is very painful for me to punish him. I wish I might--” The outside door opened, and the hired man entered, interrupting Mr. Gaston’s speech. He seemed to be troubled and excited. “Have you had Charlie out this morning, Mr. Gaston?” he asked. “Charlie? What Charlie?” “Why, Charlie the horse. He isn’t in the stable.” “Not in the stable?” “No, sir. An’ I can’t find him nowheres. The bridle’s gone, too, an’ the blanket an’ the surcingle.” “Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Gaston, dropping the toast on the hearth in her excitement. “Who put him up last night?” asked the farmer. “I did,” replied the hired man. “Did you tie him fast?” “Yes, sir.” “And shut the stable door?” “Yes, sir; but I asked Joe to water him after he’d had his feed. Joe often does that, you know.” “Call Joe!” the farmer said sharply to his wife. Mrs. Gaston hurried upstairs to the door of Joe’s room. She knocked, but there was no answer. She called, but no one responded. Then she opened the door and entered. The bed was vacant. She looked into the closet, behind the trunk, under the bed; but no boy was to be found.