He spread the map on the top of a wall, and they stood side by side inspecting it.
“We must take something to eat; I’ll provide for that. And at the Wastdale Head hotel we can have dinner—about three or four, probably. It would be enjoyable, wouldn’t it?”
“If it doesn’t rain.”
“We’ll hope it won’t. As we go back we can look out the trains at the station. No doubt there’s one soon after breakfast.”
Their rambling, with talk in a strain of easy friendliness, brought them back to Seascale half an hour after sunset, which was of a kind that seemed to promise well for the morrow.
“Won’t you come out again after supper?” Barfoot asked.
“Not again to-night.”
“For a quarter of an hour,” he urged. “Just down to the sea and back.”
“I have been walking all day. I shall be glad to rest and read.”
“Very well. To-morrow morning.”