“Do you know them, Master Archie?”
“Yes, your poor mother’s glasses.”
“Ay, lad, and as long as I live I’ll keep them. And till my dying day, Archie, I’ll think on you, and your kindness to poor poacher Bob. No, I’m not goin’ back to Burley, and I’m not going to the cottage again. I’m going away. Where? I couldn’t say. Here, quick, shake hands, friend. Let it be over. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
And away went Bob. He stopped when a little way off, and turned as if he had forgotten something.
“Archie!” he cried.
“Yes, Bob.”
“Take care of my mother’s cat.”
Next minute he leapt a fence, and disappeared in the pine wood.