What happened to Tad

by Mary E. Ropes

"But dare you think of goin' back to England at all?" asked Phil. "After what you've told me, I shouldn't think you'd want to go home. Think of your stepmother, Tad, and the police that was after you for takin' away your little brother!"

In his longing to get away from the dangers and troubles that beset him in France, Tad had forgotten those that drove him from his native place, and were still awaiting him there. Now he was silent for some time, turning things over in his mind. What Phil said was true, only too true. Hard as things had been for him in France, they would be worse still in England, unless indeed he could do something to deserve and ensure a welcome at home, and also prove to the police that he had not been guilty of any crime with regard to his little brother.

"You're right enough, Phil," he said at last. "There's one thing, and only one, that would make it possible for me to go home."

"And what's that?" asked Phil.

"Just this, kidnappin' that child again, and carryin' of him home to his mother."

Phil shook his head.

"That's a hard nut to crack," said he. "And I don't see much chance myself of your goin' to England now or ever, if it hangs on gettin' hold of the baby again. Oh Tad, what a pity you didn't begin your runnin' away from home quite by yourself; it's havin' had that baby for the one day, as has made all the mischief."

Again Tad was silent. Phil's words were quite true; he knew now how very dearly he had paid for that bit of revenge upon his stepmother. Once more he was thinking things over, and going back to the very beginning—to the wrong start he had made on that Sunday which now seemed so very long ago. The events of the last few days had worked a change in the boy. He was beginning dimly to see how, from first to last, he had been his own enemy, and how he had himself to thank for the worst of his misfortunes.

Phil's influence and example too had shown him, more clearly than he had ever perceived it before, the difference between right and wrong, while it strengthened the affection which he felt for this child, the reverence that he could not withhold, when he thought of the courageous soul in so frail a form.

By contrasting what he was beginning to know of himself with the estimate he had made of Phil's character, he could not help feeling what a cowardly, selfish, contemptible sort of a fellow he had been throughout.