ome of us if
he were not to recover. I wandered on, broken-hearted, and repenting
deeply of all my ingratitude, and the ill return I had made him for his
love to me, and I looked forward eagerly to being able to throw myself
in his arms once more, and beg his forgiveness.

Thus I mused far into the morning, when it occurred to me to look at my
watch. Was it possible? It wanted not half an hour of the time for the
train, and I was more than two miles from the place. I started to walk
rapidly, and soon came in sight of the town. What fatal madness
impelled me at that moment to stand and look at a ploughing match that
was taking place in a field by the roadside? For a minute or two my
anxiety, my father, the train, all were forgotten in the excitement of
that contest. Then I recovered myself and dashed on like the wind.
Once more (as I thought but for an instant) I paused to examine a gipsy
encampment on the border of the wood, and then, reminded by a distant
whistle, hurried forward. Alas! as I dashed into the station the train
was slowly turning the corner and I sunk down in an agony of despair and
humiliation.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I reached home at midnight, my mother met me at the door.

"Well, you are come at last," she said quietly.

"Yes, mother; but father, how is he?"

"Come and see him."

I sprang up the stairs beside her. She opened the door softly, and bade
me enter.

My father lay there dead.

"He waited for you all day," said my mother, "and died not an hour ago.
His last words were, `Charlie is late.' Oh, Charlie, why did you not
come sooner?"

Then she knelt with me beside my dead father. And, in that dark lonely
chamber, that night, the turning-point of my life was reached.

Boys, I am an old man now; but, believe me, since that awful moment I
have never, to my knowledge, dawdled again!

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A NIGHT ON SCAFELL PIKE.

Off at last! Hard work to get off, though; as if a fellow of fifteen
wasn't old enough to take care of himself. Mother cut up as much as if
I'd asked leave to go to my own funeral--said I was too young, and knew
nothing of the world, and all that sort of thing. But I don't see what
knowing the world has to do with a week's tramp in the Lakes; not much
of the world there--anyhow, where I mean to go.

I've got it all up in the guide-book, and written out my programme, and
given them