Conduct of life -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; Runaway teenagers -- Fiction
“You didn't think I would betray you?” said John, quickly.
“No, but I was afraid you would venture too far, and get us both into
trouble.”
“Trust me for that, Paul; I've got my eyes wide open, and ain't easily
caught. But wasn't it fun to see old Mudge fuming while I kept him
waiting. What would he have said if he had known the bird was so near at
hand? He looked foolish enough when I asked him if you were his son.”
John sat down and gave vent to his pent-up laughter which he had felt
obliged to restrain in the presence of Mr. Mudge. He laughed so heartily
that Paul, notwithstanding his recent fright and anxiety, could not
resist the infection. Together they laughed, till the very air seemed
vocal with merriment.
John was the first to recover his gravity.
“I am sorry, Paul,” he said, “but I must bid you good-by. They will miss
me from the house. I am glad I have got acquainted with you, and I hope
I shall see you again some time before very long. Good-by, Paul.”
“Good-by, John.”
The two boys shook hands and parted. One went in one direction, the
other in the opposite. Each looked back repeatedly till the other was
out of sight. Then came over Paul once more a feeling of sadness and
desolation, which the high spirits of his companion had for the time
kept off. Occasionally he cast a glance backwards, to make sure that
Mr. Mudge was not following him. But Paul had no cause to fear on that
score. The object of his dread was already some miles distant in a
different direction.
For an hour longer, Paul trudged on. He met few persons, the road not
being very much frequented. He was now at least twelve miles from his
starting-place, and began to feel very sensibly the effects of heat
and fatigue combined. He threw himself down upon the grass under the
overhanging branches of an appletree to rest. After his long walk repose
seemed delicious, and with a feeling of exquisite enjoyment he stretched
himself out at full length upon the soft turf, and closed his eyes.
Insensibly he fell asleep. How long he slept he could not tell. He was
finally roused from his slumber by something cold touching his cheek.
Starting up he rubbed his eyes in bewilderment, and gradually became
aware that this something was the nose of a Newfoundland dog, whose keen
scent had enabled him to discover the whereabouts of the small stock
of provisions with which Paul had been supplied by his late companion.
Fortunately he awoke in time to save its becoming the prey of its canine
visitor.
“I reckon you came nigh losing your dinner,” fell upon his ears in a
rough but hearty tone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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