“I know what! If Mamma doesn’t let me go, I’ll run away!”
“What! Run away to sea?” asked Eva, eagerly.
“No, run away to the country, up to your place, silly!”
“It’s too far to run,” said the practical Doris.
“’Course, I don’t mean to run all the way. Whoever heard of such a thing?”
“Well, dat’s what you said,” persisted Doris.
“Ugh! just like a girl. If you were a lot of boys now, you’d run away with me—just to show ’em that you’re not afraid of anything. I mean to clear out and walk up to your place, and when I’m gone Mamma might be sorry she didn’t let me go with you in the train,” said Willie, almost on the verge of tears; “and I might starve and die on the track,” he went on, with tears of self-pity welling into his eyes.
“So you might,” agreed Eva, mournfully.
“You just might,” said Doris, ready to cry; “and we’d never see you again, and you’d never see us,” she went on, bursting into tears; “and the dingoes might come and eat you up.”
At that Baby cried, too.