[CHAPTER IX.]
FRAGMENTS OF TALK.
"Step by step the journey's taken."
SUNDAY-SCHOOL was over. Mr. Clarke had shaken hands with the last teacher; answered the last question; smiled upon this or that group as he passed down the aisle; stopped a moment to speak a word of welcome to a new scholar; and then walked briskly up the street to overtake Miss Dare, who looked so tired to-day, as if she needed an encouraging word, a word which Mr. Clarke knew how to speak. The teachers had done their class-work for the day, whether well or ill, and gone their various ways; the sexton had closed the shutters and locked the door, but still that group of boys lingered.
A year had gone by since that Sabbath when Mabel Wynn was first sent to them. Two more had been added to their number, Arthur Knapp and Willy Loring, but one was not there, and the boys grew sad whenever Henry's name was mentioned; for it was now well understood that he would never be strong again. Arthur Knapp was a newcomer, and they had stopped to talk a little and get acquainted. Something had gone wrong with Perry Morse, and he was pulling at Herbert Bradford's sleeve, saying—
"Come, Bert; if you are going my way, come along."
"Don't be in a hurry; I want to talk a little while," replied Herbert.
Perry started down the walk, halted half-way, and turned back.
"You are so awful particular," he said, "I shouldn't think you'd think it quite the thing to stand there gossiping. Seems to me your white line has a good many curves in it. It leads you in a curious way."
"You are mistaken," responded Herbert. "The line is straight, but the trouble is, we boys get away from it—I mean I do."