"So you have come, Harry," exclaimed he, as our hero opened the door. "Where have you been?"
"I have been out a little while," replied Harry, whose modesty rebelled at the idea of proclaiming the good deed he had done.
"Out a little while!" roared the major, with an oath that froze the boy's blood. "That is enough—enough, sir. You know I don't allow man or boy to leave the stable without letting me know it."
"I was wrong, sir; but I—"
"You little snivelling monkey, how dared you leave the stable?" continued the stable keeper, heedless of the boy's submission. "I'll teach you better than that."
"Will you?" said Harry, suddenly changing his tone, as his blood began to boil. "You can begin as quick as you like."
"You saucy young cub! I have a great mind to give you a cowhiding," thundered the enraged stable keeper.
"I should like to see you do it," replied Harry, fixing his eyes on the poker that lay on the floor near the stove.
"Should you, you impertinent puppy?"
The major sprang forward, as if to grasp the boy by the collar; but Harry, with his eyes still fixed on the poker, retreated a pace or two, ready to act promptly when the decisive moment should come. Forgetting for the time that he had run away from one duty to attend to another, he felt indignant that he should be thus rudely treated for being absent a short time on an errand of love and charity. He gave himself too much credit for the good deed, and felt that he was a martyr to his philanthropic spirit. He was willing to bear all and brave all in a good cause; and it seemed to him, just then, as though he was being punished for assisting Joe Flint's family, instead of for leaving his place without permission. A great many persons who mean well are apt to think themselves martyrs for any good cause in which they may be engaged, when, in reality, their own want of tact, or the offensive manner in which they present their truth, is the stake at which they are burned.