“We’d better catch the rabbit before we make the rabbit stew,” chuckled Neale O’Neil. “Sammy is a good kid, I tell you. Only he has crazy notions.”
“Pooh!” put in Agnes. “You need not talk in so old-fashioned a way. You used to have somewhat similar ‘crazy notions’ yourself. You ran away a couple of times.”
“Well, did I have a real home and a mother and father to run from?” demanded the boy. “Guess not!”
“You’ve got a father now,” laughed Agnes.
“But he isn’t like a real father,” sighed Neale. “He has run away from me! I know it is necessary for him to go back to Alaska to attend to that mine. But I’ll be glad when he comes home for good—or I can go to him.”
“Oh, Neale! You wouldn’t?” gasped the girl.
“Wouldn’t what?” he asked, surprised by her vehemence.
“Go away up to Alaska?”
“I’d like to,” admitted the boy. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Oh—well—if you can take me along,” rejoined Agnes with satisfaction, “all right. But under no other circumstances can you go, Neale O’Neil.”