he
reached the spot from which they could be seen for the last time on the
Pelham road. Then, bidding good-by to his past life, he hastened on.

The road that runs from Brenton to Pelham is very straight after one has
passed Oakleigh. There are but few houses--nothing but meadows, trees,
and bushes on either side. Neal, tramping over the broad expanse of gray
mud, had nothing to distract his mind from the thoughts that filled it.
At first they were very desperate ones.

"Cynthia had no right to come and rant the way she did. The idea of
calling me a coward, and telling me I was like a boy in a dime novel
because I ran away! It was the only thing to do. They had no business to
suspect me. They-- Confound it! I won't put up with such treatment. I'll
stick to my resolution and drop the whole concern. What a long, straight
road this is, and how I hate the rain!"

At last he reached the end of it and entered the little town of Pelham,
uninteresting at the best of times, and doubly so on such a day as this.
The inhabitants were all within doors; not even a dog was stirring.

"Every one is dry and comfortable but me," thought Neal, miserably, as
he went into the station.

Fortunately, the next train for Boston was soon due, and it did not take
long for him to reach the friend's house in one of the suburbs at which
he had left his possessions.

A merry party was staying there for the Easter holidays, and Neal was
the subject of much speculation and concern when he appeared, weary and
wet, in their midst. Every one supposed that he had gone to Brenton to
visit his sister, and they wondered why he had come back on such a
stormy day.

Though the story of Neal was well known in Brenton, oddly enough it had
not yet reached his friends in Boston, and he did not enlighten them. He
went to his room and staid there for several hours. With dry clothes he
came into a better frame of mind.

Poor little Cynthia! How good she was to come to meet him such a day,
when she must have wanted to stay with Edith. And how badly she felt
about him; much more so than he deserved. He was not worth it. How she
had fired up when she told him that he was a coward! He must prove to
her that he was not. He would never give in and go back there, never!
But there were other ways of proving it; he could go to work and show
her that he was made of good stuff after all. He should not have
frightened Cynthia by saying that he would "go to the bad." But,