Riccabocca then resumed his tale; and, after confessing his own principal
share in Lenny's escape, drew a moving picture of the boy's shame and
honest mortification. "Let us march against Philip!" cried the Athenians
when they heard Demosthenes--

"Let us go at once and comfort the child!" cried the parson, before
Riccabocca could finish.

With that benevolent intention all three quickened their pace, and soon
arrived at the widow's cottage. But Lenny had caught sight of their
approach through the window; and not doubting that, in spite of
Riccabocca's intercession, the parson was come to upbraid and the squire
to re-imprison, he darted out by the back way, got amongst the woods, and
lay there perdu all the evening. Nay, it was not till after dark that
his mother--who sat wringing her hands in the little kitchen, and trying
in vain to listen to the parson and Mrs. Dale, who (after sending in
search of the fugitive) had kindly come to console the mother--heard a
timid knock at the door and a nervous fumble at the latch. She started
up, opened the door, and Lenny sprang to her bosom, and there buried his
face, sobbing aloud.

"No harm, my boy," said the parson, tenderly; "you have nothing to fear,
--all is explained and forgiven."

Lenny looked up, and the veins on his forehead were much swollen. "Sir,"
said he, sturdily, "I don't want to be forgiven,--I ain't done no wrong.
And--I've been disgraced--and I won't go to school, never no more."

"Hush, Carry!" said the parson to his wife, who with the usual liveliness
of her little temper, was about to expostulate. "Good-night, Mrs.