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 He drew Angus to him with an unaccustomed display of affection. “Is it decided?” he asked. “Have you thought it over: About the school?”

“I got to go. I got to stick up for myself.”

“Where did you learn that, Angus.”

“She told me I got to.”

“Who told you? Miss Trueman?”

“No,” said Angus, nor could questions elicit the name of the mysterious She who had sown this seed in his mind. Lydia Canfield was shut away in some reserved, secret fastness of the boy’s heart, hidden from all the world—even from Dave Wilkins…. It was a curious thing, a curious reticence emerging from the fineness of his submerged character.

In that moment apathy seemed to settle over Angus, nor did it lift during the few weeks which remained of his stay in Rainbow. No doubt the sudden, terrifying appearance of his father undid much of the good work his friends had accomplished. The threat it expressed hung over him, appalled him. He seemed duller, less interested in events, more phlegmatic. Dave he followed like a dog, regarding every instance of his presence as precious. He was afraid to be alone, fearful of going upon the street unaccompanied. His father’s face haunted him so that at night he cried out in the terror of his dreams—and then Dave Wilkins sat long hours by his