"I must be gone," said George. "You will not have left in half-an-hour's time, shall you, Rupert?"
"No; nor in an hour either."
George rode off over the stony ground, and they looked after him. Then Ford bethought himself of a message he was charged to deliver at one of the pits, and Rupert went indoors and sat down to the desk on his high stool.
Within the half-hour George Ryle was back again. He rode up to the door, and dismounted. Rupert came forward, a pen in hand.
"Are you ready to go home now, Rupert?"
Rupert shook his head. "Ford went to the pit and is not back yet; and I have a lot of writing to do. Why?"
"I thought we would have gone home together. You shall ride my horse, and I'll walk; it will tire you less than going on foot."
"You are very kind," said Rupert. "Yes, I should like to ride. I was thinking just now, that if Cris were worth anything, he'd let me ride his horse home. But he's not worth anything, and would no more let me ride his horse and walk himself, than he'd let me ride him."
"Has Cris not gone home?"
"I fancy not. Unless he has gone by without calling in. Will you wait, George?"