Those were days when mails travelled from South America often enough by sailing vessels, for there were very few steamers, and it happened that the letter which Dudley had written on his arrival in the country, to his guardian, had reached home after Harold had set out. Thus it was that the lad found himself seriously embarrassed at the first stage of his journey.
"I could hear nothing of Dudley," he said, "and so, after idling for a few days, I came, on the advice of a rancher, up into this district. It was a piece of pure bad luck taking passage with such a gang."
"Your pardon! It was a piece of amazing good fortune," contradicted Mr. Blunt. "For us, I mean, of course; for, lad, had you not come up with those fellows, had that rascally English sailor not been one of them, and, above all, had you not had the courage and resolution to do as you did, your old comrade and I would not be here now. No, no more, Harold! Dudley and I will listen to no more from you. We know the whole story, and it is clear to us what has happened. Lad, there are many people who get out of line, who do mean and contemptible tricks. I am not attempting to excuse your faults, let me tell you, but, as I say, many people sin, and go on sinning. You have learned a lesson from this fault. You have turned over a new leaf, and as a man who prides himself on his knowledge of human nature, I say definitely, without fear of contradiction, that the lad who can make up for his fault as you have done, who can face the angry friends of the late captain of the school, wrongfully accused, who can declare his own guilt to his parents, and then, not content, can follow out here, covering so many miles, with the one purpose of meeting that old friend and asking his forgiveness, is one who has good in him. You have behaved nobly, Harold. From this moment Dudley and I are your fast friends. We will prove it if you wish. Come with us to the estancia and see the life of the gauchos. You shall have a post under my manager, and pay in proportion. There, lad, it's a real pleasure to meet you."
The tall, kindly owner of the estancia stretched out one hand and gripped Harold's. Mr. Blunt was a sympathetic man who seemed to be able to dip under the surface, to read the thoughts and feelings of those with whom he came in contact. There was some magnetic attraction about him which drew young fellows to him, which made him their friend almost from the first moment, and led them to confide in him, just as Dudley had done so soon after their chance meeting. Was it extraordinary, therefore, if Harold Joyce fell under the same spell? These were some of the first really kind words he had heard for many a day. The lad was deliriously happy. His troubles had been sliding rapidly from his shoulders, and in an hour, it seemed, he had regained his old friend, and had won another. He gripped the extended hand, shook it eagerly, and then burst into tears, tears which he stifled in an instant.