Teddy rose, and was leaving the room without a word, but at the door turned back; looked long and wistfully at his mother, who had turned away, and affected not to see him; then slowly said,—­

“Good-by, mother!  It’s worse nor you can I’m feeling.  Good-by!  If ever I come to any good, I’ll let you know; and, if I don’t, you’re shut of me for always.”

The mother made no answer; and Teddy, lingering one moment on the threshold to turn his sad eyes for the last time upon the familiar objects that had surrounded him since childhood, went out, and down the stairs.

In the street he paused a moment, looking up and down, wondering where he should first go, and how food and shelter for the coming night were to be obtained.  The question yet unsolved, he was walking slowly on; when a voice far overhead called,—­

“Teddy!-Teddy Ginniss!  Come here, I say!”

It was his mother’s voice; and, as he looked up, it was his mother’s face and hand summoning him.

In the same forlorn, stunned way that he had come down, Teddy climbed the stairs again, feeling as if his feet were shod with lead, or the terrible weight at his heart was too heavy to be carried a step farther.

He pushed open the door of his mother’s room, but never looked up or spoke, although he knew she stood close behind it.  But, indeed, there could have been no time, had the boy wished to speak; for already his mother’s arms were around his neck, and her head upon his stout shoulder, while the passionate tears fell like rain upon his hands.

“Ochone, ochone!  An’ it’s me own an’ only b’y yees are, an’ must be, Teddy darlint; an’ it’s mesilf that ’ud be worse nor a haythin to turn yees inter the strate, so long as it’s a roof an’ a bit I have left for yees.  An’ sure, if ye’ve gone astray, it’s the heart uv yees that’s bruck wid frettin’ afther it; an’ there’s a many as has done wuss, and niver a hape it harmed ’em here nor hereafter.  An’, if Michael wor here the day, it’s himself ‘ud say to pass it by; an’ it wor little I should be plazin’ his blissid sowl to turn yees off for one fault.  Kiss yer owld mother, honey, an’ be her own b’y again!”

“Thank you, mother,” said Teddy, still in the strange, low voice he had used before; and, putting his arms round her neck, he met and returned her hearty kiss, and then, without another word, went and shut himself into the little loft he called his own, and was seen no more that night.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Mr. Burroughs’s business.

It was the afternoon of Thursday, Aug. 25:  and Dora, sitting beside the bed where her little charge lay sleeping heavily, heard the rattle of wheels, and, peeping from the window, saw Karl jumping from the wagon, followed more slowly by a tall, handsome young gentleman, whom she concluded to be Mr. Burroughs; her cousin having gone to meet him at the railway-station, seven miles away.