“Filial affection prevented me,” said Frank, “from making up my mind before.”
“Oh! that just reminds me,” said Chisholm O’Grahame, “that I sail for Australia next week.”
“And, oh!” cried Fred Freeman, “that puts me in mind. I’m off about the same time to the Russian Steppes.”
“What!” exclaimed Mr Willoughby, “all bent on the same errand? Well, well, boys will be boys. But, I will miss you all sadly.”
“I say, though,” said Frank, “there is one thing I do look forward to, and that is, when Fred and Chisholm return—I, of course, am going no distance—we may have a grand re-union, here at old Willoughby Place.”
“Yes,” said his father, “If we are all spared I’m sure I’ll be delighted; and there is one thing you mustn’t forget, that is, if you can find them; namely, to bring with you the companions of your adventures in the backwoods.”
“Oh! never fear, sir,” Frank replied; “we’ll ferret them out—ay, and Lyell as well.”
“That will be delightful,” said Mr Willoughby, rubbing his hands in joyous anticipation of the hoped-for event.
“And,” he continued enthusiastically, “up on the hill, near the ruins of the ancient home of our fathers, on the night of the re-union, I’ll kindle such a bonfire as never blazed on the heights before.”