"I'm afraid you've been alone too much," said the scoutmaster anxiously.
"Maybe. Still, y' remember, Robinson Crusoe, he was, too, for a long time, but it all turned out fine for him."
"Things are turning out better for you right now," asserted Mr. Perkins. "To begin with, Narcissa and I have worked out a plan that will make it possible for you to leave here to-morrow."
"Leave?" But Johnnie did not yet comprehend what the other meant.
"Yes, for good and all," added the scoutmaster. "Go away—just as Narcissa has gone—to stay."
Johnnie wavered to his feet dizzily. "Me—go," he repeated. "Away—to stay." Then as the full meaning of it swept over him, "Oh, Mister Perkins! Oh! Oh!" That old, dear dream of his—to put behind him the ugly, empty, sunless flat: the tiring, hateful, girl's work: the fear, the mortification, the abuse, the wounded pride, and, yes, Big Tom: to go, and stay away, never, never coming back—that dream had suddenly come true!
Leaning on the table, weak from the very excitement and joy of it, slowly he looked around the kitchen. "My!" he breathed. "My!"
"The Carnegie money is ready for you now," Mr. Perkins went on. "I went to Pittsburgh to see about it."
"It is? Father Pat, he says in the letter that I'm rich. But he didn't count in that Carnegie money at all."
"You can go to a good school," continued the scoutmaster; "and have the books and clothes that you need. Before school starts, there's the country—you ought to go into it for a few weeks, then to the seashore. Of course, when vacation is over, Narcissa and I want you to live with us. There's a room all ready for you.—Johnnie, you're holding your breath! Don't! It isn't good for you."
