THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"Ranald!" she cried, breathlessly, "what is it?"
"I am going away," he said, simply. "And I was just passing by—and—" he could not go on.
"Oh, Ranald!" she cried,, "I am glad you came this way. Now tell me where you are going."
The boy looked at her as if she had started a new idea in his mind, and then said, "I do not know."
"And what are you going to do, Ranald?"
"Work. There is plenty to do. No fear of that."
"But your father, Ranald?"
The boy was silent for a little, and then said, "He will soon be well, and he will not be needing me, and he said I could go. " His voice broke with the remembrance of the parting with his father.
"And why are you going, Ranald?" she said, looking into his eyes.
Again the boy stood silent.
"Why do you go away from your home and your father, and—and—all of us who love you?"
"Indeed, there is no one," he replied, bitterly; "and I am not for decent people. I am not for decent people. I know that well enough. There is no one that will care much."
"No one, Ranald?" she asked, sadly. "I thought—" she paused, looking steadily into his face.
Suddenly the boy turned to her, and putting out both his hands, burst forth, his voice coming in dry sobs: "Oh, yes, yes! I do believe you. I do believe you. And that is why I came this way. I wanted to see your door again before I went. Oh, I will never forget you! Never, never, and I am glad I am seeing
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