“I don’t know, Pete. No: here it is.”
“And it would be too hard on you to have to face ’em. Best not to try. We had our go and missed; p’raps we’d better take what they give us and not grumble.”
“Impossible, Pete. I’d rather face the dogs than the lash. But I don’t believe they’d hurt us now.”
“P’raps not, zir,” said Pete sadly. “This here one’s as playful as a puppy. He’s ’tending to bite my arm, but he don’t hurt a bit.”
There was silence again for a few minutes, during which time Nic sat with his heart beating hard, listening to the familiar sounds which came from the forest, while the passionate desire to flee grew and grew till it swept everything before it.
“Pete,” he cried at last, “we must escape. Better starve in the woods than lead such a life as this. We shall be flogged to-morrow, and it will kill me, I know.”
“The dogs’ll hunt us down if we go, lad, and we shall get it worse. Better face what we’ve got to have.”
“I will not; I cannot, Pete. The way is open, man. Let’s try for our liberty before these wretches come back.”
“Zay the word, then, Master Nic; but the dogs is friends now, as long as we’re quiet; they won’t let us go.”
“Ah, I know!” cried Nic wildly. “Why didn’t I think of it before?”