But it won't last--no, it won't last." He knocked the white ashes out of his pipe--it had been curling in brave wreaths to the very ceiling two minutes before--and sat musing.
"But about to-morrow ?" persisted John, after watching him some little time.

"I could go--I could have gone, without either your knowledge or permission; but I had rather deal openly with you.

You know I always do.

You have been the kindest master--the truest friend to me; I hope, as long as I live, rarely to oppose, and never to deceive you." His manner--earnest, yet most respectful--his candid looks, under which lurked an evident anxiety and pain, might have mollified a harder man than Abel Fletcher.
"John, why dost thee want to go among those grand folk ?" "Not because they are grand folk.

I have other reasons--strong reasons." "Be honest.