"
"He ought not to know much about trouble yet," I answered hopefully, with
the consciousness of one who has fathomed all the mysteries of grief and
can yet speak gayly of the forlorn background.
"He doesn't know enough about the world, I'm afraid," said Mrs.
Cradlebow, and her eyes, fixed on my face, seemed to me to be looking
gently into my inmost heart. "He expects so much, and he never looks out
for himself. I wish he'd be content to go fishing with the other
boys--they always come back in the autumn--and not want to sail so far."
I was almost angry because of the embarrassment I felt under that clear
glance.
[Illustration: THE MEETING IN THE SCHOOL-HOUSE.
Scene from the Play.]
"Don't you think, Mrs. Cradlebow," I said nervously; "that young people
are never content until they find out the world for themselves?" It was
an interrogation, but it was sagely uttered.
"I know, I know," she said. "Perhaps it's best he should go." She spoke
very quietly and with uncommon composure of demeanor. She withdrew her
eyes from my face, but the smile trembled on her lips, and I knew that
her heart was breaking over the words, for Luther was her darling.
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