Mr. Pond would not leave town till tomorrow.
Perhaps ... there was still some hope.
But that afternoon even this last hope was dashed. As they gathered at
the schoolhouse, the girls fresh and crisp in their newly starched
dresses, with red or blue hair-ribbons, the boys very self-conscious in
their dark suits, clean collars, new caps (all but Ralph), and blacked
shoes, there was no little 'Lias. They waited and waited, but there was
no sign of him. Finally Uncle Henry, who was to drive the straw-ride
down to town, looked at his watch, gathered up the reins, and said they
would be late if they didn't start right away. Maybe 'Lias had had a
chance to ride in with somebody else.
They all piled in, the horses stepped off, the wheels grated on the
stones. And just at that moment a dismal sound of sobbing wails reached
them from the woodshed back of the schoolhouse. The children tumbled out
as fast as they had tumbled in, and ran back, Betsy and Ralph at their
head. There in the woodshed was little 'Lias, huddled in the corner
behind some wood, crying and crying and crying, digging his fists into
his eyes, his face all smeared with tears and dirt. And he was dressed
again in his filthy, torn old overalls and ragged shirt. His poor little
bare feet shone with a piteous cleanliness in that dark place.
"What's the matter? What's the matter?" the children asked him all at
once.
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