“I cannot get any further. This is the place, and he has either been found, or he has crept away, and— Yes, that’s it; he hasn’t had strength to creep back.”
“Then we must call again.”
“Yes.”
Samson repeated his cry, over and over again, without result, and then, Fred having rejoined him, they stood listening.
“We cannot find him to-night, Samson.”
“No, sir. Well, it doesn’t much matter. He’s ever so much better, or he wouldn’t have gone out for a walk. Here, let’s sit down and eat this here bread and chicken, and drink the cider, sir. I feel as if I hadn’t had anything for a week, and the food has been bumping about my lips and asking to go in ever since we started. I’m glad now I brought it, but I’ve been sorry I was so stupid all along.”
“Do you think we could find him if we searched?” said Fred, ignoring his companion’s remark about the food.
“Sure we couldn’t, sir, without a lanthorn; and if we had one we durstn’t use it. Let’s set down and have a bite.”
“No, no. Look here! If he has crept away, he is sleeping somewhere not far off, and he is sure to come back. Give me the food, and I’ll lay it in there ready for him. He’ll find it when it’s light.”
“Put it there, sir?”