“Be sure to humour him, though,” added Glan. “He’s worth it. Don’t forget.”
While they had been talking they had been passing through many quaint streets on their way to the East Gate: streets that on an ordinary occasion would have made Jack and Molly long to stop and explore them slowly, there were so many tempting and curious things to be seen. But there was no time for loitering now. There was serious work to be done. So they hastened along until at length the East Gate was reached.
Here Glan produced two neat little boxes of sandwiches and cakes, giving one of them to Jack and one to Molly. “A snack for lunch,” he said.
“You’re sure to find plenty of friends as you go along,” said Aunt Janet. “But do take care of yourselves, dearies. Good luck be with you.” And she fumbled for her pocket-handkerchief and dabbed her eyes rapidly, while Glan patted her on the shoulder.
“Here’s to our next meeting,” he cried cheerily, “and may it be soon. Who’s going to light the first beacon, little lady, you or I?”
“Neither,” said Jack, laughing. “I am.”
“That’s the sort,” cried Glan, patting Aunt Janet vigorously, as he beamed at Jack.
The keeper of the East Gate had by this time appeared and was cautiously opening the gate. Finding the way clear he opened it wide.
“Laugh at misfortune,” Glan shouted gaily, as Jack and Molly passed out on to the High Road. “Keep up a good heart, and—tss—remember—we shall win. Good luck! Good luck!” They saw him wave his white cap in the air; there was a flutter of brown-gloved hands, then the gate closed.