“Matt, is it really you, or is this another one of those tantalizing dreams?” asked Mr. Lincoln feebly, as he essayed to rise to a sitting position.
“It is really I, father,” returned the son gently. “You had better lie still for awhile. Your run exhausted you.”
“How thankful I am that it is really you! But there must be some mistake. I have dreamed of these things before. That is why I ran away.”
“There is no mistake now, father, it is really and truly I,” and Matt bent lower and wound his arms around his father’s neck. “You have nothing more to fear, father. Just rely on me for everything.”
“I will, Matt, I will! I know it is you, now that you are so close to me!”
“And, father, you must promise that you will not run away again.”
“I promise, Matt. My mind was upset—it’s upset 303 yet, I’m afraid. But I won’t leave you, Matt; I won’t leave you. I used to imagine I saw you, and then the boys on the street would plague me and call me Crazy Will. But that’s all over now, thank Heaven! That’s all over now!”