The men who were to bale the hay had slept at the adjoining farm,
according to the agreement made, and would be at Bramble Farm for
dinner and supper and to spend that night.

"You're finished, Ethan. Go hurry him up," ordered Joe Peabody.
"Send him in here flying and turn the cows out to pasture."

"He hasn't milked!" Ethan cleared the porch steps at a single bound
and burst into the kitchen, shouting this intelligence. Excitement
was scarce in Ethan's life, and he enjoyed the pleasurable sensation
of carrying unusual tidings, even if unpleasant. "The barn door was
shut and the cows were bellowing their heads off. Not a one of 'em's
been milked!"

"I want to know!" said Joseph Peabody stupidly. "Was he in bed when
you came down, Ethan?"

"No, he wasn't," answered the hired man. "I thought he'd gone on
out. Do you suppose something's happened to him?"

Mr. Peabody stepped to the porch and gave a quick glance at the
bench where the milk pails were usually left to air and dry. They
were there, just as they had been left the night before.

"I think he's cleared out!" he announced: grimly. "Betty, do you
know what this young scoundrel is up to?"

Betty's eyes brimmed over, and she flung herself blindly into Mrs.
Peabody's arms which closed around her, though that good woman was