“I shall always think of you with affection” said Bonaparte. “And there’s that old hat of yours, if you could let me have it for a keepsake—”
“Take it,” said Waldo.
“I thought you would say so, so I brought it with me,” said Bonaparte, putting it on. “The Lord bless you, my dear boy. You haven’t a few shillings—just a trifle you don’t need—have you?”
“Take the two shillings that are in the broken vase.”
“May the blessing of my God rest upon you, my dear child,” said Bonaparte; “may He guide and bless you. Give me your hand.”
Waldo folded his arms closely, and lay down.
“Farewell, adieu!” said Bonaparte. “May the blessing of my God and my father’s God rest on you, now and evermore.”
With these words the head and nose withdrew themselves, and the light vanished from the window.
After a few moments the boy, lying in the wagon, heard stealthy footsteps as they passed the wagon-house and made their way down the road. He listened as they grew fainter and fainter, and at last died away altogether, and from that night the footstep of Bonaparte Blenkins was heard no more at the old farm.
END Of PART I.