"Yes," said Mrs. Anderson, "you'll let me explain, please, Mr. Harvey. This dear little boy spent a month at Mrs. Cricket's, and she was never paid a penny."
"She ought to be paid," said Ronald. "Course, when father returns he'll pay you back again. But she ought to get it, for there was real new-laid eggs, and the chickens were so tender."
"'Pon my word," said the old gentleman, "you're a queer boy! I guess you've got the true Harvey blood in you. Never neglect a friend—eh? And never owe a penny. Well now, madam, will you see to this? And what amount of money ought I to give you for the woman?"
Mrs. Anderson named what she thought would be a correct sum, and immediately afterwards the old gentleman produced the money from his waistcoat pocket.
It was a hard moment for Ronald when he said good-bye, but after he got into the cab he could not help feeling both surprised and elated. He could not help staring and staring at the old gentleman.
"Was it your photograph," he said at last, "that my father kept in his dressing-room?"
"I expect so," said the old gentleman.
"It's surprising," said Ronald, "how I forget. But now I remember. He loved you—he used to talk to me about you. He said it was you taught him first to be brave."
"Bless him—bless him!" said the old gentleman.
His voice got a little raspy; it is certain that his eyes were a little dim.