"Have you?" asked Harry, not a little alarmed.
"You will forgive me if I have done wrong—won't you?"
Harry looked at her. He mistook her anxious appearance for sorrow at what she had done. He could not give her pain; so he told her that, whatever she had done, she was forgiven.
"But whom have you told?"
"John Lane."
"Who is he?"
"Mrs. Lane's oldest son. He drives the baggage wagon that goes to Boston every week. He promised not to lisp a word to a single soul, and he would be your friend for my sake."
"Why did you tell him?"
"Well, you see, I was afraid you would never get to Boston; and I thought what a nice thing it would be if you could only ride all the way there with John Lane. John likes me because I carry things to his mother, and I am sure he won't tell."
"How good you are, Julia!" exclaimed Harry. "I may forget everybody else in the world; but I shall never forget you."