Walter thanked him, and waited patiently till he reappeared.
They soon reached the colonel's house, and were admitted to see him, when the policeman recounted Walter's adventures. The magistrate was a tall, thin old man, with a bristling white moustache, and a very sharp, quick manner.
"Well," he said to Walter, "if your story is true, you've been a very foolish fellow, and quite spoilt what might have been a very pleasant day. You can go and sit in the kitchen and have some supper, while I telegraph to your rector. If he says it is all as you say, I will lend you the money to go back by the 9.30 train."
"Oh, thank you, sir, thank you," cried Walter, feeling as if his troubles were coming to an end at last. "But what about Chris?"
"Your friend in the lock-up? He must stay there till he is let out. When he is set free, I suppose his relations will send the money for his journey—you can see about that when you get home—and he will probably have to pay a fine also, before he can go."
Never had Walter enjoyed a supper more. An hour passed quickly away, and he was quite surprised at being summoned again so soon to the colonel's library. He looked less fierce this time.
"It's all right, Franklin," he said. "Mr. Richardson has requested me to help you, so here is the money. I hope you will get home safely, and learn from the events of to-day to choose your friends from among the steady lads of the village, and not to listen to the big talkers, who want you to despise your elders, and judge for yourself."
"No, sir; I don't mean to be friends with Chris again," said Walter. "Thank you for helping me, sir. Good-night."
He shut the door, and as he walked away he said to himself,—
"I see now what it is that makes Chris so often go wrong. It's just that whatever any one tells him to do, he always says, 'I know best.'"