“I would ha’ done it at first,” whimpered Pan, “but I can’t now.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I’m so ’orrid hungry.”
“Well, so am I. Father will give us plenty to eat as soon as he knows. Come along; it’s only a scolding.”
“No, Master Syd, I dursen’t. You go and ask him to forgive you, and to order father not to hit me. P’r’aps I might be able to come then.”
“You are the most horrid coward I ever knew,” cried Sydney, impatiently. “Do you think I don’t feel how terrible it is to go and tell father I’ve done wrong? I’d give anything to be able to run right away.”
“Come along, can’t yer, Master Syd. Never mind being hungry; come on.”
“No, Pan, I can’t. Now then, don’t try to sneak out of it. Come and face them, like a man.”
“But I arn’t a man, Master Syd, and I can’t stir now. Oh dear! oh dear! what will father say?”
“That I’ve got you at last,” roared a gruff voice. “Hi! I’ve got ’em—here they are!”