His intention had been only to give his stepmother a thorough fright, by way of paying her out for some of the unkindness he and Bertie and Nell had received from her. But now the matter had been taken out of his hands, and it looked very much as if, not only Mrs. Poole, but he himself and the baby too, were likely to suffer from this revenge that he had so carefully planned.
"What a mess I've got into, to be sure!" sighed Tad as he peered round with weary eyes, vainly searching the thick darkness. "Whatever shall I do?"
His first impulse was to run home, confess the whole story to his father, and let him do what was best for the recovery of the baby. Tad's conscience told him that this clearly would be the right thing to do. But then, if he acted thus, it meant that he must face his stepmother's fury, and give up, for the present, at least, his plan of leaving home. He felt sure that Mrs. Poole would never believe that he had not deliberately and wilfully deserted the baby. He was certain she would never give him credit for his intention to bring her child safely back when the purposes of his boyish vengeance had been fulfilled.
No—he did not feel he could muster courage enough to return home to such a greeting as hers would be, and yielding to the whispers of his cowardice, he determined to set out on his travels at once, without seeing any of his home people again, and leaving the baby to take its chance. Still, since his conscience gave him some sharp pricks as to the fate of the child entrusted to his care, he resolved that on the following day, he would send by post, from the first town or village through which he passed, a letter to his father, telling him just how it had happened that the little one was carried off by the gipsies who had been encamped on the common outside the town. This resolve arrived at, Tad felt a little comforted, and set out to walk to a place some six miles distant, where he intended to pass the night.
In thus running away, he was conscious of only two causes of regret. One was his separation from Bert and Nell, and the other that he was obliged to give up his situation. He had feared to let Mr. Scales know he was leaving home, lest he should be stopped. So now he could not help thinking of the little ones crying because he did not come home to put them to bed as usual; and also of what his kind master would say when Monday morning came, but with it no boy to take the shutters down, and sweep out the shop, and get everything ready for the business of the day.
"Still—all said and done—at least I'm free!" said Tad to himself. "I've shook off that horrid stepmother of mine, and it shan't be my fault if I ever see her again."
So saying the lad drew himself up, and strode at a great pace along the dark road, and tried hard to believe that he had never been so happy in all his life.
[CHAPTER IV]
ANOTHER STEP DOWN
IT was late that night before Tad reached the village of Pine Hill and approached the little, homely, old-fashioned inn which went by the name of "The Traveller's Rest," this being the sign of the first inn ever built in the place, hundreds of years before.