Chapter Twenty Three.
I start for a Walk.
“Who’s for a walk?” said Uncle Dick one morning. “I’m going up the hills to the millstone-grit quarry.”
I started, and my heart gave a throb, but I did not look up.
“I can’t go,” said Uncle Jack.
“And I’m busy,” said Uncle Bob.
“Then I shall have to put up with Cob,” said Uncle Dick gloomily. “Will you come, my lad?”
“Will I come!” I cried, jumping and feeling as if I should like to shout for joy, so delightful seemed the idea of getting away into the hills, and having one of our old walks.
“Well, it must be at mid-day, and you will have to meet me out at Ranflitt.”
“Two miles on the road?” I said.