"Look there," said the woman. "You'll find her! She wouldn't have gone
without leaving a trace."

Without stopping to thank her for her breakfast and her sympathy, I ran
at the top of my speed for the old apple-tree. I felt in the hollow--it
seemed to be filled with nothing but leaves. Just as I was giving up, I
touched something stiffer than an autumn leaf, and pulling it out found
a letter, all discolored by wet and mold, but addressed to me in my
mother's handwriting. I tore it open and read:

"My poor, wandering boy: We are going away--I don't know where. This
only I know, we are going west to settle somewhere up the Lakes. The
lawsuit is ended, and we got the money your father left me, and are
going west to get a new and better start in the world. If you will write
me at the post-office in Buffalo, I will inquire there for mail. I
wonder if you will ever get this! I wonder if I shall ever see you
again! I shall find some way to send word to you. Mr. Rucker says he
knows the captain of the boat you work on, and can get his address for
me in Syracuse--then I will write you. I am going very far away, and if
you ever see this, and never see me again, keep it always, and whenever
you see it remember that I would always have died willingly for you, and
that I am going to build up for you a fortune which will give you a
better life than I have lived. Be a good boy always. Oh, I don't want to
go, but I have to!"

It was not signed. I read it slowly, because I was not very good at
reading, and turned my eyes west--where my mother had gone. I had lost
her! How could any one be found who had disappeared into that region
which swallowed up thousands every month? I had no clue. I did not