“Ah, you are not certain, then?”
Thinking, perhaps, that he was pressing me too closely in the wrong direction for his purpose, he gave me some relief by inquiring the direction of Mr. Doe’s proposed tour.
“Out in the country.”
“Mr. Doe is going hunting, I suppose?”
“Oh, no! he wouldn’t hunt Sunday; I don’t think he’s fond of hunting; and, besides, isn’t it wicked to hunt on Sundays, and shoot off your gun and make a noise?”
“Perhaps it is, but—” upon reflection, at this distance of time, I think my interrogator was about putting a leading question, suggesting an analogy beyond my capacity to distinguish, except in the matter of the noise. At all events he hesitated,—“but, as I am informed, Mr. Doe generally remains away all day when he takes his walks on Sunday—you will lose your dinner.”
“I shall not want any dinner.”
“No, of course—not till noon; but take a lunch, and be a good boy.”
I do not remember at this late day whether or not, upon the foregoing announcement, I apprehended that Mr. Doe might, through some possible contingency, vary his custom, and go walking Saturday afternoon. I did, however, deem it expedient to leave my dinner unfinished, with a view of communicating with him without delay. Receiving his assurance that he would take me to walk with him on the morrow, I went back to my pastry. The sun came up as usual the next day; there had been no convulsion of nature, in our vicinity at least; the morning was cloudless, without any prospect of untoward circumstance to interfere with our anticipated pleasure.