"I shall be glad to have you write to Mrs. Oakley," he said; "but there won't be any need of my going home with you."
"How can you find out what she writes me?" asked Mr. Huxter, subduing his wrath.
"If Mrs. Oakley is willing to have me go home and attend the academy, as I have been accustomed to do, she can let Squire Selwyn know it, and he will get word to me."
"Does he know you are running away?" demanded Mr. Huxter, frowning.
"No, he does not; but I shall tell him."
"Come, Oakley," said Mr. Huxter, persuasively, "you know this is all wrong,—your running away, I mean. I don't want you to stay at my house if you don't like it, of course, but I don't like to have it said that you ran away. Just come ashore and go home with me, and to-morrow I'll take the responsibility of sending you home to my sister. I can write her that I think she hasn't done the right thing by you. That's fair, isn't it?"
John felt that it would be fair; but unfortunately he had no faith in Mr. Huxter's sincerity. He had seen too much of him for that. He could not help thinking of the spider's gracious invitation to the fly, and he did not mean to incur the fly's fate by imitating his folly.
"I don't think it will be wise for me to go back," said John.
"I wish I could get at you," said Mr. Huxter to himself.
"My sister will be very angry when she hears of your running away," he said, aloud.