"
And more than ever Brian Kent felt in the presence of Auntie Sue as
a little boy to whom the world had grown suddenly very big and very
wonderful.
But, after a while, he shook his head, smiling wistfully. "No, no,
Auntie Sue, that sounds all true and right enough, but it can't be. I
must go just the same."
"Why can't it be, Brian?"
"For one thing," he returned, "I cannot risk the danger to you. After
all, as long as I am living, there is a chance that my identity will be
discovered, and you--no, no; I must not!"
"As for that," she answered quickly, "the chances of your being
identified are a thousand times greater if you go into the world again
too soon. Some day, of course, you must go; but you are safer now right
here. And"--she added quickly--"it would be no easier for me, dear boy,
to--to--have it happen somewhere away from me. You are mine, you know,
no matter where you go."
"But, Auntie Sue," he protested, "I am not a gentleman of means that I
can do nothing indefinitely; neither am I capable of living upon your
hospitality for an extended period. I must earn my bread and butter."
The final sentence came with such a lifting of his head, such a look
of stern decision, and such an air of pride, that the gentle old
school-teacher laughed until her eyes were filled with tears; and Judy,
at the crack in the kitchen door, wondered if the mistress of the little
log house by the river were losing her mind.
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