“That will be a capital place for you to hide in when you are a soldier, and the war comes.”
“That’s right,” said Fred, good-humouredly; “laugh away. I dare say I am a coward, but I don’t believe everybody is brave. Coming over to-night?”
“Perhaps,” was the reply; and Fred went off homeward at a trot, thinking of how delightful it would be to grow into a man, and carry a sword and ride about on a horse like Captain Miles.
He thought a good deal about Captain Miles as he went home, and wondered whether he had gone to Plymouth.
“Because he might have been going to Tavistock or Barnstaple.”
The recollection of the sturdy, keen-eyed soldier seemed to oust every other thought from the boy’s brain, and he saw in imagination the distant figure as it mounted the rising ground, and, passing over, disappeared.
“I wonder what he came for?” thought Fred. “It didn’t seem like the visit of a friend, and it could not be about business, because father never does any business now; but they were so serious, and my mother looked so troubled.”
Fred gave his ear a rub, as if he were vexed.
“I suppose it was thinking so much about that rabbit-hole of a place up at the Hall,” he muttered. “I never thought any more about mother looking so serious, and having tears in her eyes. I’ll ask her what’s the matter.”
He walked slowly on till he came in sight of the western road, which looked like a narrow path crossing the distant hill.