“Yes, sir,” Dorry said. But he didn’t say it very loud.
Then they stopped asking questions, and not one of us spoke for ever so long. O, ’t was so still! At last Dorry said, just as softly, “Can’t you find him anywhere?” And then I said that I didn’t believe he was lost.
Then Tom’s father got up from his chair and said, “Lost? That’s not it. That’s not it. ’T is his not being honorable! ’T is his not being true! Lost? Why, he was lost before he left the school.” Says he: “When he did a mean thing, then he lost himself. For he lost his truth. He lost his honor. There’s nothing left worth having when they are gone.”
O, I never saw Dorry so sober as he was that night going home. And when we went to bed, he hardly spoke a word, and didn’t throw pillows, or anything. I shut my eyes up tight and thought about you all at home, and Aunt Phebe, and Aunt Phebe’s little Tommy, and about school, and about Bubby Short, and all the time Tom’s mother’s eyes kept looking at me just as they did; and when I was asleep I seemed back again in that lonesome room, and they two sitting there.
From your affectionate grandchild,
William Henry.
P. S. I want to tell that when I was at Dorry’s I let a little vase fall down and break. I didn’t think it was so rotten. I felt sorry; but didn’t say so; I didn’t know how to say it very well. I wish grown-up folks would know that boys feel sorry very often when they don’t say so, and sometimes they think about doing right, too. And mean to, but don’t tell of it. Next time I shall tell about Bubby Short and me going to ride in Gapper’s donkey-cart. He’s going to lend it to us. I should like to buy them a new vase.
W. H.
P. S. Benjie’s had a letter, and one twin fell down stairs.
There is one sentence in the first paragraph of the following letter which reminds me of a very windy day, when I was staying at Summer Sweeting place.