"I came as soon as I could," he said. "Of course, as I was in a hurry everything went wrong. I hate Latin. Why need one learn what one doesn't like? And Agatha—"
"Never mind Agatha," interrupted Helen soothingly. "You have come; that is the great thing. Let us start at once. We can talk as we go."
"How fast you are walking!" said Harold presently, a little note of fretfulness in his voice as, beneath a blazing noonday sun, Helen half-ran across the fields, her companion toiling after her.
"Because we must make haste," returned Helen rather sharply, looking round at Harold. Then she stopped short suddenly. "What is the matter?" she asked in altered tones. "Aren't you well? Let me go alone, and you can wait in the shade till I come back."
"Nonsense, Helen!" said Harold, still fretfully. "I am quite well, only I am hot, and you will walk so fast."
Helen did not reply. She altered her pace and began to talk on other subjects; but Harold was singularly quiet and unresponsive.
In a few minutes the children arrived at a stile, and, leaving the fields, passed into a narrow lane, from which, by a plank that crossed a black, festering ditch, they reached a group of low thatched houses, very picturesque in appearance, but telling a tale of age and decay. Towards one of these, rather larger than the rest, and separated from the road by a strip of garden, Harold now led the way, closely followed by Helen. Harold knocked at the door, and a gruff voice cried "Come in!" Harold walked in boldly; Helen followed timidly. These scenes were new to her, and she felt terribly shy.
The Hunt family was seated at dinner. The father, in his rough working clothes, had already pushed an almost untasted plate of food away from him, but several flaxen heads were busy over the table, whilst Mrs. Hunt, a hard-featured woman, was bustling about and speaking in a sharp, high-pitched key.
"Lor'! be it you, Master Harold?" cried the man, whilst the woman dropped a saucepan lid in her astonishment.
"I—we came to ask about Jim," said Harold.