“You dear child!” murmured Mrs. Dudley, her eyes soft with sympathy. Then she caught him in her arms, as if he had been a baby.
“Have you had any supper?”
A weary little negative sent her into the pantry, and soon the hungry lad was eating bread and butter and cheese and cookies, and feasting his eyes upon Polly at the same time.
“Say, where in the world were you when I came away from your house?” was the sudden inquiry.
“Out in the garage,” Harold answered promptly.
“But didn’t you hear us call?”
He nodded, his lips puckered into a half-smile.
“Why didn’t you answer, then?” Polly was plainly puzzled.
“Because,” he blurted out defiantly, “I wasn’t coming to say good-bye for anybody!”
“Perhaps you thought, with Dickens,” interposed Mrs. Dudley considerately, “that it is easier to act good-bye than to say it.”