“But really, I cannot be putting myself under fresh obligations,” said Gunson.
“Very well then,” said Mr Raydon, rather bitterly; “pay me, and be independent.” Then facing round and looking at me, and at Esau, who was some little distance away, he said sharply—
“You will take these two lads to help you, of course?”
“Yes,” said Gunson, as the blood flushed to my temples, “of course. I could not do without them.” I saw Mr Raydon frown, but no more was said, and we spent the rest of the day making preparations for our start, Mrs Dean helping, with the tears trickling down her cheeks as she worked, and bringing forth appeal after appeal from Esau not “to do that.” Those few hours seemed to run away, so that it was night long before I expected it, and at last I went to Mr Raydon’s quarters to say good-bye.
“There is no need,” said Mr John, sadly. “The morning will do.”
“But we start directly after daylight,” I said. “Yes, I know; but we shall be up to see you off.” I went away to my own quarters sadly dispirited; and my feelings were not brightened by the scene going on between Esau and his mother; and I gladly went out into the cool dark night to try and grow composed, when a high-pitched voice saluted me.
“Allee leady,” it said. “Plenty tea, plenty flou, plenty bacon. Quong velly glad to go.”
I could not say the same, and I passed a very poor night, gladly rising at Gunson’s call, and dressing in the half-darkness, so eager was I to get the painful farewells over and make a start.
Mr and Mrs John had kept their words, and Mrs Dean was waiting to kiss me and say good-bye, and beg me to take care of Esau.
“For he is so rash,” she whimpered. “Do keep him out of danger, my dear.”