“That’s for your father to say.”
“He won’t help you to catch Bernard. I’ll tell him not to.”
“The impudence of the boys in this village is positively terrible,” said Mr. Snowdon. “Septimus, go over to Mr. Bacon, and see if he will lend us his horse.”
Septimus did as ordered, but he found Mr. Bacon’s horse in use, and upon his return Mr. Snowdon felt that it was too late to make other arrangements.
“I’ll write to the boy’s guardian,” he said, “and probably he will send him back without expense to me. If he does I’ll make the boy howl.”
Meanwhile Bernard was making the best of his time. He ran half a mile without stopping. He passed a covered buggy, and as he did so turned back to look at it.
It was occupied by a man of perhaps forty, who seemed to be in trouble. He held the reins loose in his hands, his eyes were partly closed, and his body swayed from side to side of the carriage.
“He needs help,” thought Bernard.
He ran to the horse, seized him by the bridle, and stopped him.
The driver did not seem to be aware of his interference.