But as the morning brightened Syd’s spirits grew cloudy, and as they reached another patch of wood through which ran a little stream, he stopped short, looking anxiously along the road in both directions.
“We can’t go home like this, Pan,” he said. “It would be horrid.”
“Well, I don’t want to go home, do I?” grumbled the boy, in an ill-used tone.
“We shall have to hide here in the wood till night, and we can dry and clean our muddy clothes and have a good wash before then.”
“And what are we to get to eat?”
“Blackberries, and sloes, and nuts.”
“Oh yes, and pretty stuff they are. One apple off the big old tree’s worth all the lot here.”
“Can’t help it, Pan. We must do the best we can.”
“Don’t let’s go back, Master Syd. You can’t tell how rope’s-end hurts. Alter your mind, and let’s go and seek our fortunes somewhere.”
“This way,” said Syd, by way of answer; and pointing off the road, the two lads plunged farther and farther into the wood, keeping close to the little stream, which had cut its way deep down below the level; so that it was some time before they came to an open sandy spot, where, with the bright morning sun shining full upon them, they had a good refreshing wash; and soon after, as they sat in a sunny nook where the sand was deep and dry, first one and then the other nodded off to sleep.