'Come in!'
How often he had rehearsed his answer to the knock! Why was it that his voice was so husky? Why were his knees trembling so? He was out of his bed now, standing in the middle of the room, a pathetic little figure with his pink bare feet and tumbled curls, and Nobbles clasped in his arms.
The door opened. Bobby drew a long, shivering sigh. A huge, black-bearded man in a striped blanket came in. He carried a gun, and an axe was fastened to his belt. He was very tall, and his voice was very gruff.
'Are you Robert Stuart Allonby? I have come to take him away.'
In an instant, with outstretched arms, Bobby sprang forward, 'Father! I'm ready!'
That was all he said; but as the big man lifted him up Bobby buried his face in the bushy black beard and clasped him round his neck, and a quiver ran through his little body as he whispered in a fervour of joy, 'I'll come with you. Why have you been so long? Oh, father, darling, take me quick, and never let me come back to this old house again.'
'Are you ready to camp out amongst fierce Indians in the wild woods?'
'I'll love to.'
'Where the wolves prowl round at night?'
'I'll be with you.'