I was up early enough on the following morning, devoured my breakfast in the kitchen by the light of a solitary candle, and then said a hasty good-bye to Dr. Bagley, who had just come down, and who, after sternly expressing a hope that I should amend my ways next term, thawed sufficiently to wish me a merry Christmas and send his compliments to my friends at home. Sparrow was to drive me in the pony-chaise as far as Round Green. We started off, with the single trunk which composed my luggage on the seat in front; and so began the most eventful journey of my life—one which it seems little short of a miracle did not end in my embarking on that still longer journey from which there is no return.
The coach was due to arrive at Round Green at about 9.30, and we were to wait for it, as usual, at the Sportsman Inn, which, being the end of a stage, was always stopped at for the purpose of changing horses.
It was a bitterly cold morning; the roads seemed as hard as iron, and our breath smoked as we talked. We had covered nearly half the distance, and were going along in fine fashion, when suddenly there was a clatter and a crash. I felt myself flung forward, heard a shout from Sparrow, and the next moment found myself rolling down a steep bank by the roadside, half blinded by the cold rime from the frosty grass. It took me a few seconds to recover myself, and when at length I scrambled to my feet, I saw at once what had happened. The pony had slipped on a sheet of ice, and come down badly, cutting its knees and smashing one of the shafts. Fortunately Sparrow had sustained no injury, and with the help of a countryman who happened to be crossing a neighbouring field we unharnessed our steed, and got it once more on its legs.
For a time the accident occupied the whole of our attention. Sparrow was in a fine state of mind, fearing that he would be blamed for the mishap. It was evident that we could not go on, and if we returned we should have to walk. Then it flashed across my mind that this delay would cause me to lose the coach. There was no catching a later train in those days, and I could not bring myself to face the prospect of spending another day in that deserted school.
"I shall go on," I declared to Sparrow, "and you can return with the pony."
"I doubt if you'll reach the Sportsman in time, Mr. Eden," was the answer. "And there's your box. We must back the chaise into the roadside till it can be sent for, but we ought not to leave your box."
"Oh, bother my luggage!" I began, when the countryman interrupted and came to the rescue.
"I doan't mind carrying the young gen'leman's box as fur as the Sportsman for a mug o' beer," he remarked; "then you can get back home with the pony."
The arrangement was no sooner suggested than I agreed to it, and Sparrow was obliged to acquiesce. The damaged carriage was pushed back into a gateway, my trunk was lifted out, and hoisted on to the broad shoulders of the labourer; and taking leave of the school porter, I turned to resume my journey to Round Green.
In the heat of the moment I had not paid much attention to the doubt expressed by Sparrow as to my reaching the inn in time to catch the coach, but now I began to wonder myself whether the thing could be done. Nowadays every boy has a watch; then they were a rarer possession. I had no means of telling the time, but guessed we had none to spare.