"Ah, Lonely, Lonely, how shall I ever pay you back for this?" asked the woman, sobbingly, with relaxing and sorrowful happiness.
Bitterly, heroically, Lonely fought and struggled against the implacable tide of emotion that seemed engulfing him. His lips quivered; a smarting tear-drop or two coursed down over a freckly pathway.
"What is it, dear?" asked the woman, bending over him.
"I—I wan't to go swimmin'," murmured Lonely, huskily, inadequately, but honestly.
And at this precise point, Master Lonely O'Malley, I must leave you at last, a hero,—hybrid of good and bad, as are all earth's heroes at heart. It may be only for your brief little day, but still I leave you, a hero. For to-morrow, I know, the eternal boy will reassert itself, the old blood will break out, the glory will be faded, the halo will be either sadly awry or altogether missing, the saint will be fallen from its snowy niche.
To-morrow, alas! you will be knee-deep in the old restless wickednesses,—yes, up to your generous young ears in all the old evils,
