“No, certainly not; I only want you to feel no more personal anger than if it had been Cheviot, or some indifferent person, that had been injured.”
“I should have hated them all the same!” cried Harry.
“If it is all the same, and it is the treachery you hate, I ask no more,” said the doctor.
“I can’t help it, papa, I can’t! If I were to meet those fellows, do you think I could shake hands with them? If I did not lick Ned all down Minster Street, he might think himself lucky.”
“Well, Harry, I won’t argue any more. I have no right to preach forbearance. Your brother’s example is better worth than my precept. Shall we go back to Margaret, or have you anything to say to me?”
Harry made no positive answer, but pressed close to his father, who put his arm round him, while the curly head was laid on his shoulder. Presently he said, with a great sigh, “There’s nothing like home.”
“Was that what you wanted to say?” asked Dr. May, smiling, as he held the boy more closely to him.
“No; but it will be a long time before I come back. They think we shall have orders for the Pacific.”
“You will come home our real lion,” said the doctor. “How much you will have to tell!”
“Yes,” said Harry; “but oh! it is very different from coming home every night, not having any one to tell a thing to.”