Bravo, Willy! With both feet he plunged into the river, and waded slowly across. Very slowly, for his mind was not fully made up yet. There was a great deal of thinking to be done first; but he might as well be moving on while he thought. Every now and then rebellious pride, or anger, or shame would get the better of him, and he would wheel round, with the impulse to strike off into the unknown _Somewhere_, where boys lived without whippings. But the thought of his mother always stopped him. Was there an invisible cord which stretched from her heart to his--a cord of love, which drew him back to her side? He could see her sorrowful face, he could hear her pleading voice, and the very tremble in it when she sang,-- "I ha'e naebody now, I ha'e naebody now." "But I'd never go back and take that whipping, if it wasn't for mother!" He no longer felt obliged to hide from the approach of every human being; and when a pedler, driving a "cart of notions," called out, "Want a lift, little youngster?" he was very glad to accept the offer. To be sure, he only rode two or three miles, but it was a great help. It was noon, by that time, "high noon too," and the smell of nice dinners floated out to him from the farm-houses, as he trudged by; but to beg a meal he was ashamed. When he reached Cross Lots it was the middle of the afternoon. He went up to the stump near the mill, where he and Freddy had sat the night before; and, as he seated himself, he thought with a pang of that pocket full of doughnuts, so freely made way with. He had eighteen cents in his wallet; but what good did it do, when there was no store at hand where a body could buy so much as a sheet of gingerbread? He was starving in the midst of plenty, like that unfortunate man whose touch turned all the food he put in his mouth into gold. Beginning to think he would almost be willing to be whipped for the sake of a good supper, he rose and walked on. When he reached the Noonin farm, a mile and a half from home, the night shadows were beginning to fall, but he could see in the distance a horse and wagon coming that made his heart thump loud. The horse was old Dolly; and what if one of the men in the wagon should be his father? No, it was only Seth and Stephen; but Seth was almost as much to be dreaded as Mr. Parlin himself. "You here, you young rogue?" called out Stephen, in a tone between laughing and scolding, for he would not have Willy suspect how relieved they were at finding him. "You here? And where's Fred?" "Up to Harlow, to Mr. Diah's," replied Willy, and coolly climbed into the wagon. "Better wait for an invitation. How do you know we shall let you ride?" said Stephen, turning the horse's head towards home. "First, we'd like to know what you've got to say for yourself," put in Seth, in that cold, hard tone, which always made Willy feel as if he didn't care how he had acted, and as if he would do just so again.