“If I listen I shan’t be able to go,” he said with a sigh; and he was just about to break into a trot to run down and join Pan, when there was a footstep on the gravel, and the boy stopped short in the shadow cast by a tree.
“Father!” he said to himself. “Can he have found out so soon?”
The step on the gravel came nearer, and Syd knew that it must have passed right under the tree where Pan was hiding.
“Could father have gone down there so quickly?” thought the boy.
Then all doubt was at an end, for he whose steps were heard stopped close at hand, muttering aloud—
“Swears he ketched sight on him in the road to-night, so he must have come home. If I on’y do get howd on him by the scruff of his precious neck, I’ll teach him to run away.”
A cold chill ran through Sydney, and he shivered. Suppose his father knew that he was going to do this mean, contemptible thing—run away and degrade himself—what would he say? and how would he act? Like Barnaby spoke, his old boatswain and gardener?
Syd shivered again. He was not afraid of the pain, but he shrank from the idea of the degradation. He fancied himself held by the collar and a stick raised to punish him. It was horrible.
“If I don’t loosen his hide my name arn’t what it is,” growled the old boatswain; and he moved on, going close by Sydney, who stood listening with heavily beating heart till Barney had gone right up to the back of the house.
Then only did Sydney run on till he was beneath the tree, and called Pan.