"I must tell father how sorry I am," he panted—"he must bid me good-bye before he goes—I must—I must—tell him."
And then, setting his teeth hard, he ran at full speed to overtake the Captain; for he was too young to understand the workings of his gallant father's heart, and the agony he felt at parting, suddenly ordered, as he had been, to be ready to start that night on a voyage to a deadly part of the African coast—a place from which many who were sent never returned.
CHAPTER V.
The Skipper ran as he had never run before. Through the gate and along the sandy road, but, before he had gone a hundred yards three rough-looking boys, who were out birds'-nesting, saw him coming, and, moved by the same mischievous feeling, formed across the road, yelling and hooting at him as he came on.
At another time the Skipper would have halted, and most likely have turned back; but he was desperate now, and if there had been a dozen boys there he would have done the same.
Clenching his fists tightly and setting his teeth harder, he charged at the biggest of the three, who was in the middle of the road, his eyes flashing as he ran. "Yah, hoo! Stop, thief! stop, thief!" yelled the boy, throwing out his arms. "Stop!"
Whop—smack—thud!
The boy was rolling over in the dust. The Skipper had jumped over him, and heard him howling as he ran on; but Bob did not turn his head; he felt sure that he should see his father, as soon as he reached the corner where the High Road ran by in a perfectly straight line through the trees for a couple of miles, down hill and up hill, right past the station at the level crossing.
But the poor Skipper was wrong; he reached the corner and stopped dead, panting hard, for there, a good half-mile away, was the station fly, with a pair of horses going at a gallop so as to catch the train. He stood breathing hard, feeling half stunned, and at last, with head and arms hanging, he turned off the road on to the grassy border, following the path by which his father and Jeffs came the previous day, till he reached the lake with its sandy edge. Then he turned in among the fir-trees in a dull, half-stupid way, but had not gone many yards, before, utterly overcome by the misery he felt, he threw himself down, hid his face in his hands, and lay there sobbing as if his heart would break.