"Hush! Jack."
"I shan't hush, Harry; you know that it's true. You are the cherub, and you know it. Why, mother, now that it's all over, and I am here, I must tell you that I never should have been here if it hadn't been for Harry."
"Bless you, Harry," said Mrs. Harkaway, squeezing his hand.
Just then, Mr. Mole, who had felt a tingling sensation at the nose, and fearing that he was about to disgrace his manly reputation by a tear, had retired, came stumping back with some news.
"Here comes Jack—old Jack, I mean. Here's luck for us."
A well-known footstep was heard, and Jack Harkaway entered the room.
As his eye fell upon Harry Girdwood, he started back, and the colour forsook his cheek.
Then he caught sight of his boy, and he gave a cry of delight as he held open his arms.
Young Jack flew to him
"Come here, Harry," cried Harkaway; "here, my boy—for you are a second son to me."