Tom laughed, a half-amused, half-provoked laugh, when he went out, and said,—
“Well, my dear, I don’t think your vagrant has proved to be such a success that you need expect me to let him choose my next errand boy.”
“I think, at least, that if he has sent you one as good as himself you will have no fault to find,” I said hotly. But all the time there was a sore place in my own heart, for I had thought that my vagrant would have loved me too well to run away from me in this way.
That night Tom said that the new errand boy was doing well, and he had concluded to keep him on. I think Tom missed my vagrant; but not, of course, so much as I missed my bright scholar—my grateful little follower.
Of course, the new boy lived in his own home, wherever that might be. I did not concern myself about him, or feel any disposition to put him in the little bed in the front attic.
Two or three weeks passed and we heard no word from Johnny True. But at last a rainy day came, and with it Johnny, asking for Miss May.
“I guess he’s repented,” cook said, coming upstairs to tell me. I went down to Johnny, resolved to be equal to the occasion—to meet him with all the severity his ungrateful behavior deserved. But, somehow, the wistful look in his blue eyes disarmed me. He was a little thin and pale, too; and my heart began to soften even before he spoke.
“I couldn’t stay away, ma’am,” he said, with the clear accent he had caught so quickly from my brief teaching, “and not let you know why I went.”
“To let me know when you went would have been more to the purpose,” I answered, with what sternness I could command. “I had thought better of you, Johnny, than that you were capable of running away.”