His friends strove to convey their sympathy and belief in him by cordial nods. But their kindness was more than offset by the sneers and grunts with which his enemies greeted him. So keenly did the boy feel them that he made his laboratory work an excuse for not joining his companions during the recesses.
What hurt him most, however, was Viola’s attitude. Though she had smiled at him when he had entered the classroom, when he had tried to speak to her she had skilfully prevented it by moving away when she saw him approaching. And deeply did her action cut Harry, so that he vowed to himself he would not give her another opportunity to cause him pain.
For some time things drifted along, and Harry continued to be the storm center of the school world. Some of his fellows shunned him, and others tried to establish themselves on even a more friendly footing with him than at first. But Harry’s attitude was neutral, his only decided stand being to refuse to appear in the Pi Eta society room, though his friends endeavored in every way to persuade him.
During that time old Jed Brown did not return to Rivertown, nor did our hero hear from the old veteran. Harry’s aunt heard from Mr. Watson, but the news was not encouraging.
“They still consider your father guilty,” said the aunt to the youth. “But we know he is innocent, and some day the world will know it, too.”
“Perhaps,” said Harry, sadly. “But, oh, Aunt Mary, to have him in prison! It is awful! I can’t bear to think of it!”
CHAPTER XXIII—A MILE A MINUTE SPIN
“Good morning, Mrs. Watson; is Harry at home?”
Saturday had come, with clear skies, and a cold, crisp air that gave promise of a fine day’s sport on the ice for Rivertown’s young people. It was Paul Martin who had knocked at the door of the widow’s house, and greeted her with his cheery smile when she admitted him.
“Good morning, Paul!” replied the good woman, the look of distress on her face giving way for a moment to one of pleasure at seeing this loyal friend of her nephew. “Yes, he is in his den, busy with something. The poor boy seldom goes out these days; and I’m afraid the constant grieving will tell on his health.”