He grew more silent and thoughtful, and when alone his thoughts
dwelt almost continually on that happy day when he should look once
more into the bishop's kind face.
"I'll tell him all about it," he would say to himself, "how I saw that
Mrs. Russell drop the pocketbook, an' how I slipped under the wagon
an' snatched it up out o' the mud, an' used the money. I'll tell it
all, an' ev'rything else bad that I can 'member, so he'll know jest
what a bad lot I've been, an' then I'll tell him how sorry I am, an'
how I'm a-huntin' ev'rywhere for that Jack Finney, an' how I'll keep
a-huntin' till I find him."
All this and much more Theodore planned to tell the bishop, and, as he
thought about it, it seemed as if he could not wait another hour, so
intense was his longing to look once more into that face that was like
no other earthly face to him, to listen again to the voice that
thrilled his heart, and hear it say, "My boy, I forgive you." Many a
time he dreamt of this and started up from sleep with those words
ringing in his ears, "My boy, I forgive you," and then finding himself
alone in his dark, dismal little room, he would bury his wet cheeks in
the pillow and try to stifle the longing in his lonely, boyish heart.
Even Nan, who knew him better than did any one else, never guessed how
his heart hungered to hear those words from the lips of the bishop.
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