During the time that Clarence Sage had been practically in hiding upon the premises of his parents his mother had been wholly unaware of his proximity. Resigned in her belief that her unfortunate son lay buried in another state, Mrs. Sage had bravely endeavored to make the best of the terrible affliction which had come upon her at a period of her life when all things had seemed the most promising of happiness and prosperity. Never for a moment, even after the jury had pronounced him guilty and he had been sentenced to prison, had Mrs. Sage entertained a doubt regarding the innocence of her older son. As far as possible the newspaper reports of the young man’s escape from prison were kept from her; but in time, when, many weeks later, Andrew Sage had viewed the body of a man recovered from the Hudson and pronounced it that of Clarence, it had been necessary to tell her the crushing and terrible truth.

For a time the poor woman was prostrated and under the constant care of a physician. During that period the body of the drowned man was buried and a tombstone bearing the name of Clarence Sage was placed over the grave.

With commendable knowledge of feminine nature, the physician, finally perceiving that drugs or medicines of any sort would never help Mrs. Sage, succeeded in rousing her by turning her mind from herself to her husband; by leading her gradually to believe that the shock of the tragedy had benumbed Andrew Sage and threatened to crush him entirely unless something could be done to encourage him to brace up; by convincing her that she alone could do this, and that it was her duty to make the effort.

The result was most surprising. The sick woman rose from her bed, and, seconded by the younger son, set about the task of cheering and encouraging the stricken father. She pleaded with him to turn his thoughts from their dead son and to remember that Heaven had graciously spared them another son, to whom they owed a duty which must not be forgotten. She forced herself to smile, and in time the sunshine of that smile, even though tempered a bit with the faintest cloud of sorrow, which promised never wholly to leave her, drove most of the black shadows of bitter resentment from the heart of old Andrew Sage. In time they came to talk the matter over calmly, and decided to leave their home in New York, where, were they to remain, they must be continually reminded of that which they wished to forget, and move to some obscure town in another state.

And so it happened that, after many years of hardships and wandering and constant yearning for the sight of his mother’s face, the young man who was supposed to be dead traced them to that little town. Through a window of the house he had tried to get a look at his mother, but had been sent scurrying away by Fred, who, discovering the prowler, came out and circled the buildings.

That very night Clarence tramped onward to another village, resolved to return no more to Oakdale. He had learned that his parents and his brother were comfortably settled there and apparently peaceful and happy, and he told himself that the knowledge was sufficient.

But he had not seen his mother’s face, and each hour and each day the yearning to do so grew stronger within him, until presently it made him falter, broke his resolution and caused him to turn back.

Fred, returning home from the disappointing duck hunt at Marsh Pond, was seen by Clarence, who suddenly decided to let his brother know that he still lived. The reader may imagine the state of mind into which this meeting between the brothers threw Fred Sage. It was this mental condition which caused his thoughts to wander in the football game that afternoon and made him responsible for much of the bad playing and many of the flukes which prevented the home team from piling up a bigger score in the earlier stages of the game, and thus encouraged the visitors to keep plugging with all the energy and aggressiveness they could work up, until eventually they swept Oakdale down in defeat.

For two nights Clarence Sage slept upon some blankets in the stable granary. After seeing and talking with Clarence several times, Fred decided that their father should be taken into the great secret—should be told that the boy he thought dead was still living.

“If I know father,” argued Fred, “and I think I do, it will do him a heap of good. On the other hand, I’m just as sure that it would be a big mistake to let mother know. She’d want you to stay near her, that she might be able to see you, and she would live in constant terror lest the truth become known and you were taken back to prison. She has struggled hard to forget you in a way, Clarence—that is, to put you out of her mind so that she might cease to brood over that dreadful thing.”

Clarence agreed with Fred, and thus it came about that on Sunday old Andrew Sage came to know the amazing truth that his unfortunate son still lived. While Fred entertained his mother in the house the bewildered father talked with Clarence in the stable.

At first old Andrew had thought that his wife must be told, but it was not difficult to convince him that this would be unwise. He spent as much time as possible talking with Clarence, who told him briefly the story of his experiences since escaping from prison, and together they laid plans for the future. Only once did Clarence declare to his father his innocence of the crime for which he had been convicted. Mr. Sage checked him promptly, stating positively that such a protestation was unnecessary, as he had never permitted himself for a single instant to entertain any doubts upon that point.

Clarence thought of going away Sunday night, but he had no money in his pocket, and, learning this, his father practically commanded him to wait until Monday, when he would draw from the bank and furnish the wanderer with funds, which might be taken as a loan and repaid when convenient. Thus it happened that Clarence lingered, finally to be captured as one of the bank robbers by Constable Hubbard.

As he had expected, when he hurried into the house to quiet her apprehensions, Fred found his mother much disturbed by the presence of the armed men whom she had seen through the windows.

“What does it mean, my boy?” she asked, her face quite pale. “Why are they here?”

“They’re hunting everywhere for the bank robbers, you know,” was the answer. “There’s no telling where the scoundrels may have taken refuge.”

“But not here—they can’t expect to find any of them here!”

“Perhaps they don’t really expect to find them, but they can’t afford to overlook the possibility. Why, what’s happened out here?” As he uttered this exclamation he hurried to a window at the back of the house and peered through it, pressing his face against the glass.

The little subterfuge was sufficient. His mother likewise hastened to the window and looked forth, questioning him agitatedly.

“Two of the men out there—I saw them running, I thought,” he answered. “They were running toward the corner. I didn’t know but they had seen something. Look, mother, at that big tree at the edge of the orchard. Father had to prop the limbs up when it was loaded with fruit. It must be pruned.” In this manner he kept her at the window until he was quite certain that the men with the prisoner had vanished down the road toward town.

Afterward he waited with no small impatience for the return of his father from the village. He did not contemplate for a moment leaving his mother alone. Ordinarily he might have done so, but, now that she knew of the attempted bank robbery and had seen the armed man-hunters, she was pitifully pale and almost bordering upon complete collapse. Fred knew that her mind had been led to thoughts of Clarence and what he must have suffered in prison and as a fugitive with the armed guards hunting him across the frozen bosom of the Hudson.

Fred’s own mind was in a scarcely less tumultuous and painful condition, but he tried his best to lead his mother’s thoughts into pleasanter channels. All the while, having placed himself where he could watch the road, he waited for the coming of his father.

In time Andrew Sage appeared, walking briskly, although his shoulders were a trifle stooped. At once Fred made an excuse and hurried to meet his father.

As the boy drew near, he became assured by the old man’s appearance that he did not know that Clarence had been taken.

“Father,” said Fred hurriedly, “I want a word with you before you go into the house. Something has happened.”

“What is it?” asked Andrew Sage, a sudden shadow of apprehension clouding his face. “Uncle Ed Tower just told me that another one of the robbers has been caught.”

“Father,” said Fred, standing with his back toward the house, “what I am going to tell you will be a shock, and it’s possible that mother is watching us from the window. You must not let her see that you’re affected.”

The man’s face grew suddenly ashen.

“Clarence?” he muttered hoarsely.

“Do brace up,” urged Fred. “They came here to search for one of the robbers. They had been told that he was hiding in our stable.”

“And they found Clarence?”

“Yes. He gave himself up when he realized that it was useless to try to hide.”

“But—but he had—nothing to do with the attempted robbery. They had no right to touch him for that. Didn’t he tell them?”

“What good would that have done, father? He was found concealed in our stable, and he’s a stranger in this town. You can see that no explanation he could possibly make would keep them from locking him up.”

“But they have no right to touch him!” cried Mr. Sage, with a sudden vehement gesture.

“Steady, father. Remember about mother. She does not know. I kept her diverted while they took him away. You must be strong. We must continue as long as possible to hide the truth from her.”

“But it will all come out now,” groaned the old man, his shoulders drooping more than ever. “It’s my fault—my fault! Why didn’t I let the boy go yesterday? I am to blame!”

“No one is to blame, father. It’s just fate. It had to come.”

“But—but if they find he’s not one of the robbers—if he can prove that he’s not,” said Andrew Sage eagerly, “perhaps they will let him go.”

“That’s my only hope, and it’s a slim one, father. We mustn’t base too much upon it.” Even as he said this, Fred realized how futile that hope was. For had not Sleuth Piper, by prying and spying, learned the truth, which would mean full exposure for Clarence? Still, it was not best to let Andrew Sage know at present how desperate the situation was.

“I’m going into town and see what can be done,” said Fred. “You’re completely upset, father, but still you must keep it from mother. If they capture the other robbers there may yet be a chance—a very small chance—for Clarence.”

“It’s fate,” mumbled Mr. Sage, repeating the words the boy had spoken a few moments before—“fate! It would have been better had he never come here; better had he left us in ignorance that he was alive.”

He swayed, and Fred clutched his arm, again entreating him to brace up.

“I’m tired, tired!” sighed old Andrew Sage, his face drawn and haggard. “I must rest.”

Alarmed, Fred said, “I’ll help you to the house.”

In a moment, however, Mr. Sage drew himself up and protested that he needed no assistance.

“Your mother, boy—your mother,” he murmured. “She will see and be frightened. I’m all right now; I’m strong. You see what more you can learn, and if it’s anything favorable let me know as soon as possible. Look! You can see that I’m all right now. Go!”

Bravely, sturdily he started onward toward the house, even turning to wave his hand and throw the boy a mock smile, which at that distance might deceive the eyes of the woman within the house.

After watching the old man for a few moments, Fred turned toward the village, breaking into a run ere he had passed beyond sight of his home.