“Forget it!” repeated McGovern, looking reproachfully in his face; “it will haunt me as long as I live.”
“I have been told that people often feel that way when great sorrow overtakes them; but,” added Dick, seeing his companion was grieved by his words, “I do not believe it will be so with you.”
“I have run away from home before, but I think this was a little the worst, for my father had everything arranged to send me to college, and I know his heart is well-nigh broken.”
“Not so far but that you can mend it by doing what you say you mean to do,” said Dick, thinking it wise to emphasize the truth already spoken.
McGovern made no reply, but stood for a minute as if in deep thought. Dick was watching him closely and saw him look down at the inanimate form at his feet. He sighed several times, and then glancing up quickly, said in an eager voice:
“Dick Hilliard, I wish I was like you.”
The words sounded strange from one who had been so reckless of all that was right, but never was an utterance more sincere—it came directly from the heart.
“Don’t take me for a model, for you can be a great deal better than I; you tell me you have good parents; all you have to do is to obey them.”
“You seem to doubt my keeping the pledge,” said McGovern, looking with curious fixidity in the countenance of Dick.
“I believe you are in earnest now, but what I fear is that you have become so accustomed to your wild life that you will forget this lesson.”