The whole family accompanied Herbert to the road. After kissing Mary and Mrs. Kent, and shaking the doctor cordially by the hand, Herbert jumped into the wagon. Just before the horse started the doctor handed our hero a sealed envelope, saying, “You can open it after a while.”
Though, like most boys of his age, Herbert had a great horror of making a baby of himself, he could hardly help crying as he rode up the street, and felt that he had parted from his best friends. His eyes filled with tears, which he quietly wiped away with the corner of his handkerchief.
“Come, come, don't blubber, boy,” said Mr. Holden, coarsely.
Herbert was not weak enough to melt into tears at an unkind word. It roused his indignation, and he answered, shortly, “When you see me blubbering, it'll be time enough to speak, Mr. Holden.”
“It looked a good deal like it, at any rate,” said Abner. “However, I'm glad if I'm mistaken. There's nothing to cry about that I can see.”
“No, perhaps not,” said Herbert; “but there's something to be sorry for.”
“Something to be sorry for, is there?” said Abner Holden.
“Yes.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I've left my best friends, and I don't know when I shall see them again.”