“So it is.  I haven’t any idea what has become of him.”

“Did you look around Squire Pemberton’s house, where he was seen last?”

“I looked about on both sides of the road, going and coming from the Harbor.  I whistled all the way, and if he had been any where round, he would have whistled back, as he always does.”

“What do you suppose has become of him?” demanded the poor mother, worried beyond expression at the mysterious disappearance of her son.

“I can’t tell, mother.”

“Don’t you think we had better call up the neighbors, and have something done about it?”

“I don’t know,” replied John, hardly less anxious than his mother.

“I don’t suppose they would be able to find him if we did,” added Mrs. Somers, wiping away the tears from her face.

“I can’t think anything has happened to him, mother.  If he had been on the water, or anything of that kind, I should feel worse about it.”

“If I only knew where he was, I shouldn’t feel so bad about it,” said she; and her position, certainly, was a reasonable one.

“What’s the matter, sister?” called gran’ther Greene, from his chamber.  “Hasn’t that boy got home yet?”

“No, he hasn’t come yet, and I am worried to death about him,” replied Mrs. Somers, opening the door of her brother’s room.

“What o’clock is it?”

“After twelve.  Thomas never stayed out so late in his life before.  What do you suppose has become of him?”

“Law sake!  I haven’t the leastest idea,” answered the old man.  “Thomas is a smart boy, and knows enough to keep out of trouble.”

“That’s what I say,” added John, who had unlimited confidence in his brother’s ability to take care of himself.

“I’ll tell you what I think, John,” said Mrs. Somers, throwing herself into her chair with an air of desperation.

But she did not tell John what she thought:  on the contrary, she sat rocking herself in silence, as though her thought was too big and too momentous for utterance.

“Well, what do you think, mother?” asked John, when he had waited a reasonable time for her to express her opinion on the exciting topic.

Mrs. Somers rocked herself more violently than before, and made no reply.

“What were you going to say?”

“I think the boy has gone off to Boston, and gone into the army,” replied she, desperately, as though she had fully made up her mind to commit herself to this belief.

“Do you think so, mother?”

“I feel almost sure of it.”

“I don’t think so, mother.  Tom wouldn’t have gone off without saying something to me about it.”

“If he wouldn’t say it to me, he wouldn’t be likely to say it to you, John.  It don’t look a bit like Thomas to go off and leave his mother in this way,” moaned the poor woman, wiping away a deluge of tears that now poured from her eyes.