"O, I didn't mean any harm, sir," cried he, trying to steady his voice: "I reckon I ain't lost, sir; or, if I am, I ain't lost much!"
"So, so," laughed the policeman, good-naturedly; "and what was your name, my little man, before you got lost, and didn't get lost much?"
"My name is Horace Clifford, sir," replied the boy, wondering why a cruel policeman should want to laugh.
"Well, well," said the man, not unkindly, "I'm glad I've come across ye, for your mother's in a terrible taking. What set ye out to run off? Come, now; don't be sulky. Give us your hand, and I guess, seein' it's you, we won't put you in the lock-up this time."
Horace was very grateful to the officer for not handcuffing him on the spot; still he felt as if it was a great disgrace to be marched through the city by a policeman.
Mrs. Clifford, Grace, and Mr. Lazelle met them on the way.
"O, my dear, dear son," cried Mrs. Clifford, as soon as she could speak; "do you know how you've frightened us all?"
"I followed the band," stammered Horace. "I was looking for Mr. Lazelle."
"You're a naughty, mean little boy," cried Grace, when she had made sure he was not hurt anywhere. "It would have been good enough for you if you'd drowned in the lake, and the bears had ate you up!"
Still she kissed her naughty brother, and it was to be noticed that her eyelids were very red from crying.