"Yes; I mean to go to sea, but I'll wait till I get my mother's consent now. Young Chandos, though, isn't fit for the sea, and he mustn't go."
"And you think they have taken the road to Liverpool, young gentleman?"
"I am sure they have."
"And how do you think they meant to travel?" asked the policeman again.
"Oh, they'd walk, unless Chandos junior had lots of tin, and that ain't likely; for Mother Brown makes us shell out for her bulls'-eyes."
"Do you know how much money your brother had, Chandos?" asked the governor.
"Not much, sir, I should think. He came to borrow some of me yesterday, but I only gave him a shilling."
"Then we may conclude they are walking," said the policeman; and a few minutes afterwards he and Swain drove away, and we have been wondering ever since whether they would catch the runaways."
October 20th.—Nobody heard anything about Tom and Chandos until yesterday, for they didn't go to Liverpool after all, and so Swain and the policeman had their journey for nothing. Mr. Haslitt got here a few hours after the telegram was sent, and asked me all about Tom; but he was too impatient to wait until Swain got back at night, as everybody expected he would do, but went off to London to set people to work at once, in case they were not heard of. It was just as well he did, too, for Tom must have changed his mind at the last minute, and started for Plymouth instead of Liverpool, for that was where he was found—he and Chandos—wandering about the docks asking everybody if they wanted a boy to go to sea. Fancy anybody taking that poor little muff Chandos! And it seems Tom might have got a berth for himself, but he wouldn't go without Chandos, so they were both caught, and I'm glad of it—glad at least that they found Chandos minor, though I can't help feeling sorry for Tom, for he'll have a harder time of it than ever now, I fancy.