"It must be from my father," said he,—a thought that troubled him deeply, for it seemed to bring ill news—that his father would never make himself known.
"He must have seen me last night," Trove went on. "He must even have been near me—so near he could have touched me with his hand. If I had only wakened!"
He put the money in his pocket and made ready to go. He would leave at once in quest of Darrel and take counsel of him. It was early, and he could see the first light of the sun, high in the tall towers of hemlock. The forest rang with bird songs. He went to the brook near by, and drank of its clear, cold water, and bathed in it. Then he walked slowly to Robin's Inn, where Mrs. Vaughn had begun building a fire. She observed the troubled look in his face, but said nothing of it then. Trove greeted her and went to the stable to feed his mare. As he neared the door he heard a loud "Whoa." He entered softly, and the big barn, that joined the stable, began to ring with noise. He heard Tunk shouting "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" at the top of his voice. Peering through, he could see the able horseman leaning back upon a pair of reins tied to a beam in front of him. His cry and attitude were like those of a jockey driving a hard race. He saw Trove, and began to slow up.
"You are a brave man—there's no doubt of it," said the teacher.
"What makes ye think so?" Tunk inquired soberly, but with a glowing eye.
"If you were not brave, you'd scare yourself to death, yelling that way."
"It isn't possible, or Tunk would have perished long ago," said the widow, who had come to feed her chickens.
"It's enough to raise the neighbours," Trove added.
"There ain't any near neighbours but them over 'n the buryin'-ground, and they must be a little uneasy," said the widow.
"Used t' drive so much in races," said Tunk, "got t' be kind of a habit with me—seems so. Ain't eggzac'ly happy less I have holt o' the ribbons every day or two. Ye know I used t' drive ol' crazy Jane. She pulled like Satan. All ye had t' do was t' lean back an' let 'er sail."