The Young Outlaw Part 13

"Where is the deacon?" asked Sam.

"He's gone to bed," said Mrs. Hopkins. "Did you want to see him?"

"No," said Sam, slowly.

"It's time you were abed too, Sam," said the lady. "You're out too late, as I was tellin' the deacon to-night. Boys like you ought to be abed at eight o'clock instead of settin' up half the night."

"I guess I'll go to bed now," said Sam, taking a lamp from the table.

"You'd better, and mind you get up early in the mornin'."

Sam did not answer, for he was busy thinking.

He went upstairs, fastened his door inside, and taking out the letter surveyed the outside critically. The envelope was not very securely fastened and came open. Sam could not resist the temptation presented, and drew out the inclosure. His face flushed with excitement, as he spread out two five-dollar bills on the table before him.

"Ten dollars!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sam. "What a lot of money! If it was only mine, I'd have enough to go to New York."

CHAPTER IX.

SAM TAKES FRENCH LEAVE.

If Sam had been brought up to entertain strict ideas on the subject of taking the property of others, and appropriating it to his own use, the temporary possession of the deacon's money would not have exposed him to temptation. But his conscience had never been awakened to the iniquity of theft. So when it occurred to him that he had in his possession money enough to gratify his secret desire, and carry him to New York, there to enter upon a brilliant career, it did not occur to him that it would be morally wrong to do so. He did realize the danger of detection, however, and balanced in his mind whether the risk was worth incurring. He decided that it was.

"The deacon don't know I've got the money," he reflected. "He won't find out for a good while; when he does I shall be in New York, where he won't think of going to find me."

This was the way Sam reasoned, and from his point of view the scheme looked very plausible. Sam had a shrewd idea that his services were not sufficiently valuable to the deacon to induce him to make any extraordinary efforts for his capture. So, on the whole, he made up his mind to run away.

"Shall I go now, or wait till mornin'?" thought Sam.

He looked out of his window. There was no moon, and the night was therefore dark. It would not be very agreeable to roam about in the darkness. Besides, he was liable to lose his way. Again, he felt sleepy, and the bed looked very inviting.

"I'll wait till mornin'," thought Sam. "I'll start about four, and go over to Wendell, and take the train for New York. I'll be awful hungry when I get there. I wish I could wait till after breakfast; but it won't do."

Sam was not usually awake at four. Indeed he generally depended on being waked up by the deacon knocking on his door. But when boys or men have some pleasure in view it is apt to act upon the mind even when wrapped in slumber, and produce wakefulness. So Sam woke up about quarter of four. His plan flashed upon him, and he jumped out of bed.

He dressed quickly, and, taking his shoes in his hand so that he might make no noise, he crept downstairs, and unlocked the front door, and then, after shutting it behind him, sat down on the front door-stone and put on his shoes.

"I guess they didn't hear me," he said to himself. "Now I'll be going."

The sun had not risen, but it was light with the gray light which precedes dawn. There was every promise of a fine day, and this helped to raise Sam's spirits.

"What'll the deacon say when he comes to wake me up?" thought our hero, though I am almost ashamed to give Sam such a name, for I am afraid he is acting in a manner very unlike the well-behaved heroes of most juvenile stories, my own among the number. However, since I have chosen to write about a "young outlaw," I must describe him as he is, and warn my boy readers that I by no means recommend them to pattern after him.

Before accompanying Sam on his travels, let us see how the deacon was affected by his flight.

At five o'clock he went up to Sam's door and knocked.

There was no answer.

The deacon knocked louder.

Still there was no answer.

"How sound the boy sleeps!" muttered the old man, and he applied his knuckles vigorously to the door. Still without effect. Thereupon he tried the door, and found that it was unlocked. He opened it, and walked to the bed, not doubting that he would see Sam fast asleep. But a surprise awaited him. The bed was empty, though it had evidently been occupied during the night.

"Bless my soul! the boy's up," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the deacon.

A wild idea came to him that Sam had voluntarily got up at this early hour, and gone to work, but he dismissed it at once as absurd. He knew Sam far too well for that.

Why, then, had he got up? Perhaps he was unwell, and could not sleep.

Not dreaming of his running away, this seemed to the deacon the most plausible way of accounting for Sam's disappearance, but he decided to go down and communicate the news to his wife.

"Why were you gone so long, deacon?" asked Mrs. Hopkins. "Couldn't you wake him up?"

"He wasn't there."

"Wasn't where?"

"In bed."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Sam's got up already. I couldn't find him."

"Couldn't find him?"

"No, Martha."

"Had the bed been slept in?"

"Of course. I s'pose he was sick, and couldn't sleep, so he went downstairs."

"Perhaps he's gone down to the pantry," said Mrs. Hopkins, suspiciously. "I'll go down and see."

She went downstairs, followed by the deacon. She inst.i.tuted an examination, but found Sam guiltless of a fresh attempt upon the provision department. She went to the front door, and found it unlocked.

"He's gone out," she said.

"So he has, but I guess he'll be back to breakfast," said the deacon.

"I don't," said the lady.

"Why not?"

"Because I think he's run away."

"Run away!" exclaimed the deacon. "Why, I never had a boy run away from me."