me in a
passion of temper. Running away had plainly given him an arrogant
conviction of manhood. Garry, old dear, I had to thrash him for the
good of his soul and my Irish temper--he was so offensively independent
and unjust.

"It was a pretty job of thrashing but it did him good. He threw
himself on the ground and sobbed like the kid he is. While he was
pulling himself together, I built up the fire and made him some coffee.

"The blaze of the fire worried him--he was afraid his sister would see
it and come back. But he drank the coffee and when I had damped the
fire to ease his mind, I explained to him just why I'd felt the need of
thrashing him. For one thing I hadn't cared for the way he spoke to
his sister. And for another I hadn't cared at all for his insults to
me. He listened sullenly to the facts of my eavesdropping and
apologized. When he found that I was disposed to be friendly he
blurted out his justification for running away: an eccentric old
invalid uncle who in all probability is not so evil as the boy claims.

"I had an odd feeling as we talked that he stands at the parting of the
ways. Chance will make or mar him. And therefore I told him that if
he insisted upon running away, he might as well tramp with me and think
it over.

"I don't quite know yet why I said it.

"He reminds me of Kenny somehow, save that Kenny's more of a kid. Both
of them have an overdose of temperament and need a guardian with an
iron hand. And both have a way about them.

"Likely, after the wind was so pitifully out of his sails I could have
dragged him up the hill home but if he has the notion of escape in his
head, he'd go again.

"After a good deal of talk, friendly and otherwise, we took turns at
the searchlight and wrote, each of us, a letter to his sister, I in a
sense seeking to guarantee a respectability I do not look or feel since
I am a truant myself with an indifferent amount of worldly goods.
However, I couldn't help thinking how she'd worry and I promised to see
him through.

"He's asleep now under my blanket, catching his breath at intervals
like a youngster who's carried heartbreak into his sleep. Poor kid! I
suppose he has. I've promised him to be on the road before daybreak.

"He'll have to work his way, but that, of course, will be good for him.
What pennies I have I'm obliged to count with a provident eye. I've
added to 'em from time to time along the road. So far I've been
intermit