Then he launched forth into a description of the number of bad boys who had passed through his hands, and endeavored to draw a parallel between their case and mine, but, I think, with poor success.
He kept up this monologue for at least ten minutes, while I sat on the couch and listened with anything but pleasurable emotions.
At the end of that time he came to a sudden stop, and went out slowly, groaning dismally.
When the sound of his footsteps had died away down the corridor, I surrendered myself to my thoughts. And how I did think!
What had been all my trouble compared to this? In prison! The thought was horrifying!
I felt now that I would not dare return home—for who would not shrink from me as a malefactor?
Besides, I was extremely dubious as to my impending fate. I was not afraid of being convicted of larceny, unless Mary Jane Robinson perjured herself; but I was desperately afraid of Mr. Barron.
I knew he took the Lancaster Examiner, and should he see my name in it, I felt certain he would pounce down on me, and then—well, something terrible would certainly happen.
The sky looked very dark and cloudy just then, and you may easily imagine how bitterly I regretted my foolishness in running away.
I lay awake for an hour or more thinking in this fashion, and then I fell into a fitful slumber.