“Well,” cried Miss Carlaw as he entered, “have you got it all over, eh?”
“I haven’t seen any one,” said Comethup.
“Ah, that’s unfortunate. But I can’t give you any more hours, you know. Too much emotion isn’t good for the young, and you’ve had a week of it. Come, eat your lunch.”
The carriage was at the inn door exactly to the minute, and the small luggage put upon it. Comethup, before he followed his aunt into the vehicle, looked wistfully up and down the street, but no one he knew was in sight. Their way, however, lay past the captain’s cottage, and there, to his infinite delight, was the captain at his garden gate, shading his eyes with his hand and looking up and down the road.
“Oh, please,” cried Comethup, frantically, “please may we stop?”
“What the devil for?” asked Miss Carlaw, sharply.
“Oh, there’s the captain, standing at his gate, looking for me. I really can’t go without saying good-bye to him.”
“All right; I suppose you must. Call to the man to stop. A minute, mind, no longer.”
Comethup tumbled out of the carriage, almost before it had stopped, and ran back to the captain. The captain saw the boy flying down the road toward him; tried to salute in the old stiff fashion, but changed in a moment, and caught the little figure in his arms and held him tightly. For a moment neither could speak; and then the captain, as if ashamed of showing any emotion, thrust the boy gently away, cleared his throat, and spoke quickly. “Thought I’d missed you, Comethup. Make a man of yourself, so that I’ll be proud of you. And—and write to me; tell me all you do. There’s your aunt waving from the carriage. Good-bye.”