“We’ll say no more about it, Boy,” she whispered. “Run to the Major and tell him you are very sorry, and that you will never tell a lie again.”
Boy hesitated a moment. Then, impulsively throwing his arms round her neck and kissing her, he ran quickly away. He found the Major in the billiardroom reading his newspaper and smoking, and went straight up to him,
“I’m very sorry, sir,” he faltered.
Major Desmond laid down his paper and looked at him full in the face, with the straight steel-blue eyes that had in them as much command as tenderness.
“Sorry for what?” he demanded,—“For touching the gun, or for telling a lie?”
Boy’s heart swelled, and his eyes were misty and aching.
“For both, sir,” he said.
The Major held out his hand, and Boy laid his own little trembling hot fingers in that cool clean palm.
“That’s right!” said Desmond: “Disobedience is bad, but a lie is worse,—don’t do either! Is that agreed?”
“Yes, sir!”