“You’ve been crying.”
“Something got in my eye,” said the boy.
“To be sure. Tears. What’s it all about, Will? And, mind you, no lying! Your father’s son should speak the truth boldly and fearlessly.”
“Why, Doctor,” was the halting answer, “it’s nothing that amounts to shucks. I stopped a minute to fly a kite with the Williams children, up at the big house, and Mrs. Williams came out and said she didn’t—” There was a catch in his voice, but he quickly controlled it: “didn’t want me to play with them. That’s all— * * * * Well, I’ll be going, Doctor.”
“Halt!” cried Doctor Meigs, sternly, and Will could see he was frowning in that awful way he had when anything especially interested him. “Stand up, William! Throw back those shoulders—chest out—that’s the way. That’s how your father used to stand, my boy.”
“Did he?” asked Will, brightening up.
“Straight as an arrow. And looked everyone square in the eye, and spoke the truth, as an honest man should.”
“Then why,” enquired Will, half scared at his own boldness, “did my father run away, Doctor Meigs?”
“Run away!” roared the doctor, in a terrible voice. “Who told you that? You’ve been listening to those lying tales of the scandal-mongers.”
“Didn’t he?” timidly asked the boy.