It was getting dusk by this time; but even the splendour of all those burning ricks against the darkening sky was merely wormwood and gall to Oswald's upright heart, and he jolly soon saw that it was the same to Dicky's.
'I feel pretty sick,' he said. 'Let's go home.'
'They say the whole eleven ricks are bound to go,' said Dicky, 'with the wind the way it is.'
'We're bound to go,' said Oswald.
'Where?' inquired the less thoughtful Dicky.
'To prison,' said his far-seeing brother, turning away and beginning to walk towards the bicycles.
'We can't be sure it was our balloon,' said Dicky, following.
'Pretty average,' said Oswald bitterly.
'But no one would know it was us if we held our tongues.'
'We can't hold our tongues,' Oswald said; 'if we do someone else will be blamed, as sure as fate. You didn't hear what that woman said about insurance money.'