Nic raised his hand to his hat as he galloped off, but he did not turn his head.
“The conceited young puppy!” cried Mr Dillon angrily, as he watched the boy’s receding form; “and he wouldn’t eat bread and salt. He deserves to be flogged himself for his obstinacy. I don’t know, though: I wish I’d had a boy like that.”
He re-entered the house, and Nic rode on homeward, the slowest, saddest ride he had had since he entered the colony, for as soon as he was out of sight of the house he drew rein and let Sorrel walk.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
A Night’s Work.
“What shall I do?” said Nic to himself.
Being faint, and feeling half stunned, no answer came; and he looked round at the beautiful country, which appeared newer and more beautiful than ever in the orange-gold of approaching evening, while all within was black with misery and despair.
He never knew before how much he liked the stern, manly fellow who that next morning was to be tied up and flogged; and the more Nic thought of the horrible punishment the deeper grew his misery, as he felt what a helpless boy he was in the matter; and a number of wild plans began to enter his head.