Chapter VIII: Robert, the Runaway

BUT hour after hour passed, and he did not come. The mother became very restless, continually repeating the words, "I must go home. I left every thing at sixes and sevens. Why don't the child come?"

"Why don't you go to Mr. Bullock's, and see him?" suggested her sister.

"No, I should only miss him; and they haven't treated me well. He wrote me that I must be more strict with Robert, or I should rue it when it was too late. I wonder what made the boy want to go there?"

At noon, Mrs. Woodward sent a messenger to Mr. Bullock's to say that Mrs. Weeks was in Baltimore for a few hours, and wished to see her son immediately. Before the man returned, Mr. Woodward came home to dinner.

"Will you read Robert's letter again, Anna?" her sister asked.

"I'd rather not. I'm sorry I came, there's such a fuss."

"I insist that my husband has a right to hear it."

"Take it then," and Mrs. Weeks threw it across the room.

Mr. Woodward was a man of quick, even violent temper, but fortunately he had learned to govern it. Little trials often disturbed him; but for serious troubles, he was ready.

"What's this dirty scrawl?" he asked, picking up the sheet hastily.

"Read it," said his wife.

"I can't, it isn't readable."

"I've heard it, and perhaps I can make it out."

She commenced to pick out the words, which the bad spelling rendered almost impossible, while her sister—in-law walked to the window and stood looking into the street in an indifferent manner.

"There's another side to this story," remarked the gentleman, when it was finished. "Wait a minute and I'll read you a letter."

He brought forward the confession and read it aloud.

"Oh! Oh dear! What trouble that boy has given me!" exclaimed Annie, beginning to cry.

"I don't like the tone of his letter to you, Annie," said the gentleman. "What is the place he refers to, with lots to eat? The boy is a glutton; that's my idea of him. If he didn't have enough here, it was his own fault, until the last two or three days."

At this minute, the messenger returned with the startling announcement that none of Mr. Bullock's family had seen Robert Weeks for a year.

"It's my opinion he has run away," remarked Mr. Woodward.

"Oh, where, where has he gone? My poor, dear boy!"

Mrs. Weeks gave a wild shriek, and covering her face with her hands, sank into a chair.

"Mamma," cried Ellen, who had followed the messenger to the room, "Marion knows something about it."

"Yes, I do! I know, or I guess, where he is," said Marion, "though I didn't think he was going so soon. He has gone to be a soldier."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Mr. Woodward. "No captain would take him, except for a servant; and Robert isn't fond enough of work for that. Though he is twelve years old, he is very short for his age."

"He told me he was going," Marion insisted, her eyes sparkling, "but he said I mustn't tell."

"What else did he say? Tell me every word," screamed the half frantic mother.

"He said he'd got a place, and he was going to have a splendid uniform, with gold epaulettes and a gold sword and—and he said he should dress up some day and come back here and—and marry me."

"Indeed!" exclaimed his uncle, trying to keep sober. "And did you consent to share his honors?"

"No," said the child, hanging her head. "I told him I wasn't big enough for a good many years."

"Oh, Robert, Robert!" groaned his mother. "It would have been better if I'd let the man put you in prison."

"There's no time to be wasted on foolish regrets," remarked the gentleman. "We must have a policeman here and put him on the search, and when we've found him, Annie, you must do just what you please with him. We consider his visit to Baltimore ended."

"I'm sorry I came! I'm always in trouble. I don't see why I should have so much and other people none."

"Annie, stop a minute. It's the busiest time of the year with me; but I'm going to leave every thing, and search for your boy, on one condition,—if you will go to your chamber and stay there. Mrs. Bowles and the children can be with you if they please. But you must promise not to see or speak to Josephine. She's had worry enough with Robert for the last four months. Is it a bargain?"

"It's very hard. I, his own mother, have got to bear it; and I don't see, why I—"

"Then you refuse. Very well, I'll go back to my store."

"No, no! I will do any thing. I'll stay in the street, if you wish to turn me out of the house."

"Will you accept my terms? Then give me that letter."

"I wont, I wont. This is to his mother. It has nothing to do with it."

He still held out his hand, and she at last gave the letter up.

"Now, Ellen, for the photograph he gave you."

"He took it back, papa, and gave it to Marion."

"Oh to be sure!" Notwithstanding the trouble they were in, the gentleman's eyes twinkled as the little child took a picture from an envelope in her pocket, and handed it to him.

"The policeman has come!" shouted Ellen in great excitement.

He was shown into the dining hall, where the whole family, with the exception of the mistress, soon gathered.

"Oh, I know that little chap very well!" said the officer, when he saw the photograph. "I've seen him round here within a day or two, with one of the worst boys in the city."

"'Deed, Mister Woodward, dat's a fac," exclaimed cook shaking her woolly head. "They was having dere heads togeder, and says I to myself, Satan is a catching dem fellows, sure."

Then she told of Robert stealing out the back door with his bundle.

"Where's the boy? He'll know where Robert is," suggested Mr. Woodward.

"I saw him within half an hour. I'll find him, and bring him here."

"Did any regiment leave Baltimore yesterday?"

"I didn't hear of any."

"Then he is in hiding somewhere; and the boy will tell us."