"Anyway, I'm jolly glad you've come now. I haven't really forgotten you,
ever. Only in the day-time----"
"Oh, yes, you have," his Friend said, smiling. "It's natural enough and
right that you should. But if only you will believe always that I once
was here, if only you'll not be persuaded into thinking me impossible,
silly, absurd, sentimental--with ever so many other things--that's all
I've come now to ask you."
"Why, how should I ever?" John demanded indignantly.
"After all, I _was_ a help--for a long time when things were difficult
and you had so much to learn--all that time you wanted me, and I was
here."
"Of course," said John politely, but feeling within him that warning of
approaching sentiment that he had learnt by now so fundamentally to
dread.
Very well his friend understood his apprehension.
"That's all. I've only come to you now to ask you to make me a
promise--a very easy one."
"Yes?" said John.
"It's only that when you go off to school--before you leave this
house--you will just, for a moment, remember me just then, and say
good-bye to me. We've been a lot here in these rooms, in these passages,
up and down together, and if only, as you go, you'll think of me, I'll
be there.
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