His girl was driving the cattle, but he said----" "Girl?
What kind of a girl ?" "Oh, a kind of a tomboy, freckled--chews gum and says 'darn it!' That kind of a girl." Harold's face darkened.

"I don't like the idea of that girl.

She might have heard something, and then it would go hard with me." "Don't you worry.

The Pratts ain't the kind of people that read newspapers; they didn't stop here but a day, anyhow." The sight of Mr.Burns and his wife at the gate moved Harold deeply.
Mrs.Burns came hurrying out: "You blessed boy! Get right down and let me hug you," and as he leaped down she put her arms around him as if he were her own son, and Harold's eyes smarted with tears.
"I declare," said Mr.Burns, "you look like a fightin' cock; must feed you well down there ?" No note of doubt, hesitation, concealment, or shame was in their greetings and the boy knew it.

They all sat around the kitchen, and chatted and laughed as if no ill thing had ever happened to him.