This was answered by an angry look.

"You must go back to your master, boy," said the father, after a
pause. "When you wish to come home, ask his consent."

"He doesn't object to my coming home," said Willy, his voice still
quivering.

"Go back, I tell you! Take your hat, there, and go back. Don't come
here any more with your tales!"

The boy glanced towards his mother, and read pity and sympathy in
her countenance, but she did not countermand the order; for she knew
that if she did so, a scene of violence would follow.

"Ask to come home in the morning," said she to her boy, as she held
his hand tightly in hers at the door. He gave her a look of tender
thankfulness, and then went forth into the darkness, feeling so sad
and wretched that he could not repress his tears.

Seven years. And was only this time required to effect such a
change! Ah! rum is a demon! How quickly does it transform the tender
husband and parent into a cruel beast! Look upon these two pictures,
ye who tarry long at the wine! Look at them, but do not say they are
overdrawn! They have in them only the sober hues and subdued colors
of truth.