"I will never think differently—never—never!" cried Charlton. And jumping up he rushed off, leaving Ralph to continue his way alone, and somewhat heavy-hearted, for he had a genuine liking for the lonely, sad-faced boy, and was indeed truly sorry that he had said anything to cause him such pain and grief.
"Hallo, Rexworth! What have you been doing with Charlton?" asked Warren, meeting him in the playground a little later. "He rushed across here a little while ago as though he were training for a race; and when I asked him if he had seen you, he said that he didn't know anything about you, and that he didn't want to know, either. Whatever have you done to upset him in that way?"
"We have had a bit of a quarrel," answered Ralph. "Don't ask me about it, old fellow, for I don't want to talk of it. I hope that he will be all right again next week. By the way, Mr. St. Clive has asked me whether you would care to come over and spend the afternoon with me to-morrow."
"Will a duck like to swim when it gets enough water to paddle its little tootsies in?" laughed Warren. "My dear chap, I will come on the wings of greased lightning. I must go home and tell the mater first though, or she will wonder what has become of me—fancy that I have met with an accident, or something. Fellows ought not to be careless about such things as that. Then I will come on, if that will do, and—great guns! there goes the bell, and it is my turn to see the school ready for calling over. I am off"—and away Warren sped as fast as he could run.
The evening passed, the following morning came and went, and still Charlton gave Ralph no opportunity for renewing his offer of friendship. He looked pale, miserable, but determined—Ralph had wounded him to the very soul, and he would not—could not indeed—forget or forgive it.
The hour of departure came, and still Charlton avoided Ralph. They left without wishing each other good-bye, and Ralph set out for Mr. St. Clive's, feeling disappointed and heavy-hearted.
But disappointment and heavy-heartedness could not long find place in that bright home. The very first greeting, the warm handshake of Mr. St. Clive, the smile of his wife and the rush with which Irene came to greet him, altogether united to banish every melancholy thought, and to bring sunshine to his heart.
And what a circle of sympathetic listeners he had when he told them about the theft, and how he had chanced to be upon the scene. And both Irene and Mrs. Clive laughed, and were at the same time very indignant that any one should dare to suppose, even for one moment, that Ralph could possibly be a thief.
But Mr. St. Clive looked grave, for he could see how hard this was for the lad, and could understand what a big fight it must have been for Ralph.