"I don't care if I do lose my life," was the unexpected rejoinder.
"You don't care?" repeated Jack, much surprised.
"Do you realize what you're saying?" asked Jack sternly.
"Yes, I do. I don't care! I want to be lost! I never want to see any one again! I came out here--I don't care what becomes of me--I'd like to fall down under the snow and--and die--that would end it all!"
Then, to Jack's astonishment, Will burst into tears, though he bravely tried to stifle them.
"Well--of all the----" began Jack, and words failed him. Clearly he had a most peculiar case to deal with. He took a step nearer, and put his arm affectionately around Will's shoulder. Then he patted him on the back, and his own voice was a trifle husky as he said:
"Say, old man, what's the matter? Own up, now, you're in trouble. Maybe I can help you. It doesn't take half an eye to see that's something's wrong. The idea of a chap like you wanting to die! It's nonsense. You must be sick. Brace up, now! Tell me all about it. Maybe I can help you."
There was silence, broken only by Will's half-choked sobs.
"Go ahead, tell me," urged Jack. "I'll keep your secret, and help you if I can. Tell me what the trouble is."
"I will!" exclaimed the new boy with sudden determination. "I will tell you, Jack Ranger, but I don't think you can help me. I'm the most miserable lad at Washington Hall."
"You only think so," rejoined Jack brightly. "Go ahead. I'll wager we can make you feel better. You want some friends, that's what you want."
"Yes," said Will slowly, "I do. I need friends, for I don't believe I've got a single one in the world."
"Well, you've got one, and that's me," went on Jack. "Go ahead, now, let's hear your story."
And then, standing in the midst of the storm, Will told his pitiful tale.
"My father and mother have been dead for some time," he said, "and for several years I lived with my uncle, Andrew Swaim, my mother's brother. He was good to me, but he had to go out West on business, and he left me in charge of a man named Lewis Gabel, who was appointed my guardian.
"This Gabel treated me pretty good at first, for my uncle sent money regularly for my board. Then, for some reason, the money stopped coming, and Mr. Gabel turned mean. He hardly gave me enough to eat, and I had to work like a horse on his farm. I wrote to my uncle, but I never got an answer.