If Abner had been in bed his mother would have pulled him out, for her arm was vigorous, but the bed was empty.

“Well, I vum!” she ejaculated, in surprise.  “Ef that boy isn’t up already.  That’s a new wrinkle.  And the little boy gone, too.  What can it mean?”

It occurred to Mrs. Barton that Abner and Herbert might have got up early to go fishing, though she had never known him to make so early a start before.

“I reckon breakfast’ll bring ’em round,” she said to herself.  “I reckon I shall have to split the wood myself.”

In half an hour breakfast was ready.  It was of a very simple character, for the family resources were limited.  Mr. Barton came downstairs, and looked discontentedly at the repast provided.

“This is a pretty mean breakfast, Mrs. B.,” he remarked.  “Where’s your meat and taters?”

“There’s plenty of ’em in the market,” answered Mrs. Barton.

“Then, why didn’t you buy some?”

“You ought to know, Joel Barton.  You give me the money, and I’ll see that you have a good breakfast.”

“Where’s all the money that man Ford gave you?”

“Where is it?  It’s eaten up, Mr. Barton, and you did your share.  Ef you’d had your way, you’d have spent some of the money for drink.”

“Why don’t he send you some more, then?”

“Ef you see him anywheres, you’d better ask him.  It’s your business to provide me with money; you can’t expect one boy’s board to support the whole family.”

“It’s strange where them boys are gone,” said Joel, desirous of changing the subject.  “Like as not, they hid under the bed, and fooled you.”

“Ef they did, I’ll rout ’em out,” said Mrs. Barton, who thought the supposition not improbable.

Once more she ascended the stairs and made an irruption into the boy’s chamber.  She lifted the quilt, and peered under the bed.  But there were no boys there.  Looking about the room, however, she discovered something else.  On the mantelpiece was a scrap of paper, which appeared to be so placed as to invite attention.

“What’s that?” said Mrs. Barton to herself.

A moment later she was descending the staircase more rapidly than she had gone up just before.

“Look at that,” she exclaimed, holding out a scrap of paper to Joel Barton.

“I don’t see nothin’ but a bit of paper,” said her husband.

“Don’t be a fool!  Read what it is.”

“Read it aloud.  I ain’t got my specks.”

“The boys have run away.  Abner writ it.  Listen to this.”

Rudely written on the paper, for Abner was by no means a skillful penman, were these words: 

“Bub and I have runned away.  You needn’t worry.  I reckon we can get along.  We’re going to make our fortunes.  When we’re rich, we’ll come back.  Abner.”

“What do you think of that, Joel Barton?” demanded his wife.

Joel shrugged his shoulders.