He answered his mother's letter, confessing that his conduct had afforded only too good a foundation for Jack's stories.
"The trouble, I think, is," said he, "that I wrote my promises first with a pencil. They did get a little rubbed out I own. I have since taken a pen, and written them all over again, word by word, and letter by letter, with ink. So you may depend upon it, dear mother, that not another syllable of my pledge will get blurred or dimmed, either on the leaf of my Testament; or on the page of my heart. Only believe this, and then you may believe as much as you please of what J. W. writes."
Not a word to the same J. W. did Frank say of the base thing he had done; and as for the revenge he had vowed, the impulse to wreak it in tigerish fashion had passed like a night-fog before the breezy purity of the new life that had dawned.
In a couple of days Frank had mostly recovered his equanimity. The loss of the watch was still a source of anxious grief to him, however; less on his own account, let me say, than for the sake of the unknown giver. Nor had he, as yet, found any opportunity to atone for his rudeness to the old drum-major, who had lately, for some cause, gone over to the other wing of the regiment on board the steamer, so that Frank yearned in vain to go to him and humbly beg forgiveness for his fault.
"What has taken Mr. Sinjin away?" he asked of his friend, the young corporal.
Gray shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Frank as if he had a good mind to tell a secret.
"How should I know? He's such a crotchety old boy. I don't think he could account for his conduct himself. He asked permission to remove his quarters to the steamer, and got it; pretending, I believe, that he could have better accommodations there."
"And I believe," said Frank, "that you know more about it than you will own."
"Well, I have my suspicions. Shall I be candid with you, Frank? and you'll forgive me if I hurt your feelings?"
"Yes," said Frank, anxiously.