As soon as they left the table, back he ran to Kingthorpe. When he went into the stable Carlstrom was standing looking at Bob.
“It’s a dark outlook here for the young gentleman,” said Carlstrom. “The horse’s wind is broken.”
Johnny Blossom sat down upon a box, with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, and stared at Bob; but not a word passed his lips.
“The best thing to do is to shoot him at once,” continued Carlstrom.
Away darted Johnny Blossom without a word. Out of the stable, across the grounds, and up to an outlying field he ran as if for dear life. In a far corner of the field he threw himself down, and burying his face in the grass cried bitterly, and so hard that his whole body shook with his sobbing.
Oh, Bob, Bob! And he, who was heir of Kingthorpe, had abused the little horse! What would Uncle Isaac say if he knew? And now he could never ride horseback any more! Oh—oh—oh! He must go home and tell Mother. It was dreadful to do it, but he must, he must.
When he passed Kingthorpe, he took care not to glance in that direction; it would be too sad to see the stable and all that. He had a lump in his throat the whole way and was in utter misery, but he kept on running doggedly. When some boys called to him he only ran the faster, without looking back.
Mother sat alone on the veranda. How good that she was alone! John sat down on the steps, all doubled together, and said not a word.
“Well, John,” said Mother, “is anything the matter?”
“Yes, there is something—something perfectly dreadful, Mother, but I’ve got to tell you about it.”