Now, although we have not stopped our narrative to introduce the subject, we must here observe that Joey's love for his parents, particularly his father, was unbounded; he longed to see them again; they were constantly in his thoughts, and yet he dared not mention them, in consequence of the mystery connected with his quitting his home. He fully perceived his danger: he would be apprehended, and being so, he must either sacrifice his father or himself. Having weighed all this in his mind, he then reflected upon what should be his course to steer. Should he go home to acquaint Major McShane? He felt that he could trust him, and would have done so, but he had no right to intrust any one with a secret which involved his father's life. No, that would not do; yet, to leave him and Mrs McShane after all their kindness, and without a word, this would be too ungrateful. After much cogitation, he resolved that he would run away, so that all clue to him should be lost; that he would write a letter for McShane, and leave it. He wrote as follows:-- "DEAR SIR,--Do not think me ungrateful, for I love you and Mrs McShane dearly, but I have been met by a person who knows me, and will certainly betray me. I left my father's home, not for poaching, but a murder that was committed; _I was not guilty_. This is the only secret I have held from you, and the secret is not MINE. I could not disprove it, and never will. I now leave because I have been discovered by a bad man, who will certainly take advantage of having fallen in with me. We may never meet again. I can say no more, except that I shall always pray for you and Mrs McShane, and remember your kindness with gratitude. "Yours truly, JOEY MCSHANE." Since his return from Saint Petersburg, Joey had always, by their request, called himself Joey McShane, and he was not sorry when they gave him the permission, although he did not comprehend the advantages which were to accrue from taking the name. Joey, having finished his letter, sat down and cried bitterly--but in a school there is no retiring place for venting your feelings, and he was compelled to smother his tears. He performed his exercise, and repeated his lessons, as if nothing had happened and nothing was about to happen, for Joey was in essence a little stoic. At night he went to his room with the other boys; he could only obtain a small portion of his clothes, these he put up in a handkerchief, went softly downstairs about one o'clock in the morning, put his letter, addressed to McShane, on the hall-table, opened the back door, climbed over the play-ground wall, and was again on the road to seek his fortune.