He glanced back once at the chimneys and white walls of Oakleigh when he reached the spot from which they could be seen for the last time on the Pelham road. Then, bidding good-by to his past life, he hastened on.
The road that runs from Brenton to Pelham is very straight after one has passed Oakleigh. There are but few houses—nothing but meadows, trees, and bushes on either side. Neal, tramping over the broad expanse of gray mud, had nothing to distract his mind from the thoughts that filled it. At first they were very desperate ones.
"Cynthia had no right to come and rant the way she did. The idea of calling me a coward, and telling me I was like a boy in a dime novel because I ran away! It was the only thing to do. They had no business to suspect me. They— Confound it! I won't put up with such treatment. I'll stick to my resolution and drop the whole concern. What a long, straight road this is, and how I hate the rain!"
At last he reached the end of it and entered the little town of Pelham, uninteresting at the best of times, and doubly so on such a day as this. The inhabitants were all within doors; not even a dog was stirring.
"Every one is dry and comfortable but me," thought Neal, miserably, as he went into the station.
Fortunately, the next train for Boston was soon due, and it did not take long for him to reach the friend's house in one of the suburbs at which he had left his possessions.
A merry party was staying there for the Easter holidays, and Neal was the subject of much speculation and concern when he appeared, weary and wet, in their midst. Every one supposed that he had gone to Brenton to visit his sister, and they wondered why he had come back on such a stormy day.
Though the story of Neal was well known in Brenton, oddly enough it had not yet reached his friends in Boston, and he did not enlighten them. He went to his room and staid there for several hours. With dry clothes he came into a better frame of mind.
Poor little Cynthia! How good she was to come to meet him such a day, when she must have wanted to stay with Edith. And how badly she felt about him; much more so than he deserved. He was not worth it. How she had fired up when she told him that he was a coward! He must prove to her that he was not. He would never give in and go back there, never! But there were other ways of proving it; he could go to work and show her that he was made of good stuff after all. He should not have frightened Cynthia by saying that he would "go to the bad." But, then, he had been abominably treated. He could not go to college now, for he would never accept it from Hessie, who had been willing to believe he took the money. He lashed himself into a fury again as he thought of it. He was utterly unreasonable, but of course he was quite unconscious of being so.
Finally the better thoughts came uppermost again, and he decided what to do. He would go to Philadelphia and ask his guardian to put him in the way of getting some work. He would tell him the whole story. Fortunately, he did not remember that Cynthia had said her father went to Philadelphia; if he had he would not have gone, thinking that his guardian would have been prejudiced against him by his brother-in-law.