The boy heaved a long sigh. Evidently walking such a long distance had taken away some of the romance of leaving home.
“What will your mother say to your running away?” went on Frank, kindly.
“I—I don’t know.”
“She’ll be awfully worried. More than likely she won’t sleep a wink to-night, thinking about you.”
At this the boy grew very sober.
“What is your name?”
“Bobby Frost.”
“Then, Bobby, take my advice, and go straight home. It’s the very best thing you can do.”
“Dad’ll lick me for running away.”
“Maybe not, if you promise to behave in the future.”