The poor Skipper did not know how time went: he could think of nothing but that his father had gone away still angry with him, and without bidding him good-bye; and he lay there, half stunned by his misery, till a gruff voice exclaimed: "Hullo! Master Bob! why, here you are, then. Bell's rung ever so long ago; they're looking for you everywhere, and your Ma's in a orful way."
The Skipper started to his feet, but with his head averted from the gardener, who was returning, after going home to his dinner; and setting off running, he made for the house, where he hurried upstairs, into his room, to bathe his swollen eyes.
Before he had finished, his mother was at the bed-room door, looking wild and anxious, but, the sight of the boy's swollen eyes convinced her, that he had only hidden himself away in the wood so that no one should see his tears; she said nothing, but kissed him tenderly, and waited till he was ready to go down.
All that afternoon the boy spent alone, thinking. When the bell rang for tea he was thinking still, but Mrs. Trevor thought it better not to interfere with him, and she only sighed, when she saw him take his hat and go down the garden again, toward the belt of fir-trees by the big pool. "He'll be better to-morrow, poor boy," she said to herself. "How bravely he tries to master it all—how proud his father would be, if he knew."
Poor Mrs. Trevor did not know the fresh grief in store for her, and the anxiety she would have to suffer, for the Skipper had made his plans at last; and that night was spent in horror and despair.
CHAPTER VI.
The Skipper looked quite two years older in the face, as he trudged along through the wood as fast as he could walk, thinking of what he was about to do, for it never once came into his young mind, that he was going to add to the pain his mother was already feeling; and with his mind quite made up, he went straight to the station, to find the boy clerk behind, waggling the handle of the telegraph.
"When's the next train?" asked the Skipper.