“Yes, papa,” said Johnny, in a choked voice.
“I think, then, that you remember what I told you, my boy, and I shall pray that you may not again forget it. And now, the next thing is, reparation, so far as you can make it. You must write to Mrs. —— and tell her the whole story.”
“Oh, papa! please! I’ll do anything else!” said Johnny, piteously. “But won’t you please write for me, and let me sign it, or put that it’s all true, at the bottom?”
“No, my son,” said his father, firmly, “you must do this yourself, and I shall take it as a proof of real repentance, if you do it promptly, and without complaint.”
Johnny said not another word, and that evening, when he bade his father good-night, he handed him a letter, saying meekly,—
“You’ll direct it for me, won’t you, papa?”
“Certainly, I will, my dear boy,” said his father, throwing his arm around Johnny’s shoulder, and drawing him near for another kiss.
“And you’ll read it, and see if it will answer? Indeed, I did my very best!” said poor Johnny.
“I don’t doubt it, dear boy,” said his father, warmly, “and I shall add a few lines to tell Mrs. —— so.”