Return of the Search-Party.
“What are you thinking about?” said Waller.
“Thinking,” replied Godfrey.
“Yes; you haven’t spoken a word for the last five minutes.”
The two lads were standing together with their elbows resting on the sill of the wide dormer window, whose two casements were propped wide open, while they gazed out into the soft darkness of the autumn night.
“I was thinking about that friend of yours who was going to get me a pass across to France in a fishing-boat.”
“Oh,” said Waller in a disappointed tone; “I thought you were thinking about how beautiful it is looking out here into the darkness of the forest, with the scent of the soft, warm, damp leaves, and listening to the owls and that squeaking rabbit that had the weasel after it.”
“It is very beautiful,” said Godfrey sadly; “but I was thinking about that boat.”
“I wish you wouldn’t be so fond of wishing to get away,” said Waller gloomily. “It’s as if I had not done enough to make you comfortable.”
“Oh!” cried the lad passionately, and he turned to lay his hand on Waller’s shoulder. “How can you say that, when you have done too much, and made me feel—almost alone in the world as I am—as if I should like to stay here always!”