The dog caught sight of Tom running hard, uttered a yelp, tucked its tail between its legs, and began to run. Then Pete turned to see what had startled the dog, caught sight of Tom racing along, and, a guilty conscience needing no accuser, took it for granted that he was being chased; so away he ran, big stick in hand, his long arms flying, and his loose-jointed legs shambling over the ground at a pace which kept him well ahead.
This pleased Tom; there was something exhilarating in hunting his enemy, and besides, it was pleasant to feel that he was inspiring dread.
“Wonder what he has been doing,” said the boy, laughing to himself, as Pete struck off at right angles through the wood and disappeared, leaving his pursuer breathless in the lane. “Well, I sha’n’t run after him.—Hah! that has done me good.”
Tom had another good look round where the lane curved away now, and ran downhill past the big sand-pit at the dip; and then on away down to where the little river gurgled along, sending flashes of sunshine in all directions, while the country rose on the other side in a beautiful slope of furzy common, hanging wood, and closely-cut coppice, pretty well filled with game.
“Better get back,” thought Tom; and then he uttered a low whistle, and broke into a trot, with a new burden on his back in the shape of the bath-chair, for he had suddenly recollected Uncle James’s complaint about not having been out for a ride.
Sure enough when he reached the garden David met him.
“Master’s been a-shouting for you, sir. Yes, there he goes again.”
“Coming, uncle,” cried Tom; and he ran into the house, and encountered Uncle Richard.
“Oh, here you are at last. Get out the bath-chair quickly, my boy. Your uncle has been complaining bitterly. Little things make him fret, and he had set his mind upon a ride.”
“All right, uncle—round directly,” cried Tom, running off to the coach-house. “Phew! how hot I’ve made myself.”