“Then what made thee come and tell?”
“’Cause—’cause”—
“Did thee do it because it was right?”
The tone was so gentle, that Pollio ventured to look up; and the old gentleman was beaming down on him so kindly, that he couldn’t bear it another minute.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” sobbed he, throwing both arms round one of the Quaker’s knees.
“Sorry for what? Sorry thee told?”
“No, sir! I wouldn’t have not told for any thing in this world!” cried Pollio, hunting for his handkerchief.
But, before he had found it,—and of course it wasn’t in his pocket, for he had thrown it at a tree-toad,—Mr. Littlefield had caught him up in his arms, and was giving him a good hugging.
“Thee is one of the Lord’s own little ones,” said he, kissing him on both cheeks. “Thee didn’t do right to meddle with my chaise,—I won’t uphold thee in that,—but thee did nobly to tell the truth. The Lord bless thee and keep thee! Why, Napoleon, I never liked thee half so well as I do this minute!”
How did Pollio feel then? I suppose he never was so surprised in his life. The Quaker had to give him the use of his handkerchief for about two minutes; and after that the shower cleared off, and a rainbow shone in his eyes. The lumps had gone out of his throat, the ache had gone out of his heart, and the whole world looked so beautiful, that he wanted to shout and turn somersets all the way to the house.