"Go! But—" answered Tartlet.
"Would you rather stay here?"
"With you, Godfrey—yes!"
"No—alone!"
"Alone! Never!"
"Come along then!"
Tartlet, thoroughly understanding that Godfrey would not alter his decision, resolved to accompany him. He had not courage enough to stay behind at Will Tree.
Before starting, Godfrey assured himself that the fire-arms were ready for action. The two guns were loaded, and one passed into the hands of the professor, who seemed as much embarrassed with it as might have been a savage of Pomotou. He also hung one of the hunting-knives to his belt, to which he had already attached his cartridge-pouch. The thought had occurred to him to also take his fiddle, imagining perhaps that they would be sensible to the charm of its squeaking, of which all the talent of a virtuoso could not conceal the harshness.
Godfrey had some trouble in getting him to abandon this idea, which was as ridiculous as it was impracticable.
It was now six o'clock in the morning. The summits of the sequoias were glowing in the first rays of the sun.