And the Skipper did not speak! And this was his friend, the first heart-friend the child had ever had, perhaps the only one that would ever come to him, and he was affronting him, casting him off, accusing him of vileness! Unable to bear the pain any longer, the child looked up at last, and as he did so, the tears overflowed and ran down his round cheeks.

The dark eyes were as kind as ever.

They were smiling, oh, so tenderly! John hid his face on his blue sleeve, and sobbed to his heart's content; somehow, without a word, the dreadful pain was gone, and the blessed feeling had returned that this friend knew all about things, and understood little boys, and liked them.
The Skipper did not speak for a moment, only stood and stroked the boy's curly hair with a light, soft touch, almost as his mother used to stroke it.

Then he said, in his deep, grave voice, that was sweeter than music, John thought.
"Colorado! my little son, my friend!" That was enough for a few minutes, till the sobs were quieted, and only the little breast heaved and sank, tremulously, like the breast of a frightened bird.

Then the Skipper led him to a rustic bench, and sat down beside him, and took his hand.
"And that hurt you to say, my little son ?" he said, smiling.