unaccustomed to demonstrations of affection.

"There, there." She tried to soothe the girl, for Betty's convulsive
sobbing really alarmed her.

"Don't you go to feel bad, dearie. If Bob's gone, he's gone, and
that's all there is to it."

Peabody, milk pail in hand, motioned to Ethan to go out and begin
milking.

"That isn't all there is to it, not by a long shot!" he growled at
his wife. "If I get my hands on that boy he'll rue the day he ever
set foot off this farm. He'll go back to the poorhouse and there
he'll stay till he's of age."

Betty sat up, pushing the tumbled hair from her hot forehead.

"I'm glad Bob ran away!" she cried recklessly. "He's gone where you
won't catch him, either. You never treated him fairly, and you know
it."

Peabody banged the kitchen door by way of relieving his feelings,
but the latch did not fasten so that he heard Betty's next sentence
addressed to his wife.

"I'm only waiting for a letter from Uncle Dick," confided Betty.
"Then I'm going to Washington. Things will never be any different
here, Mrs. Peabody; you've said so yourself. I wish Uncle Dick would
hurry and write. It's been a good while since I heard." And there was