Then, acting on impulse, he related the incident of his father's visit to the famous lawyer, the latter's refusal to handle the case, and the development of the evening.
"And all this time, knowing his father's action, you've been kind and courteous to that Clothespin? I never heard anything so fine," breathed the girl proudly. But though her admiration of his attitude toward his classmate was sincere, it was the realization that Fred had once again restored her to his confidence, as indicated by his telling her of the Bronson matter, that made the girl most happy.
Bitterly she reproached herself for having by her manner added to the boy's suffering, and eagerly she strove to make amends.
"Remember what you asked me the day we quarrelled?" she exclaimed, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.
"Do I remember? Well, I should say I did. I've gone over our talk two or three times a day to see what I had said that could give you offense."
"You foolish boy! It was all my fault, and—and now I want you to ask me again."
"So you can pick another quarrel?"
"Don't be silly. I was just a jealous little goose. I might have known it was only your consideration for others that led you to speak of Alice as you did."
This confession gave both the young people happiness, and it was much later than even Fred had supposed when he returned to his home, and, going to his room, wrote the tidings to his father that were destined to effect great changes.
At the cheery greetings with which Fred hailed them the next morning, his schoolmates were first amazed, then delighted, and by the time classes were over all memories and bitterness caused by the breach were healed over and forgotten.