“I don’t know. The programme is to go back in the steamer that returns to Christiansand to-morrow night.”
“O, then you mean to go back.”
“Your head’s as thick as the broadside of an iron-clad. Of course I mean to go back.”
“Immediately?”
“In the next boat.”
Stockwell did not exactly like the sharp way with which Sanford dealt with his innocence. Certainly the coxswain and himself had talked about an excursion to the interior of Norway without running away; but now, though the circumstances favored the plan, his friend plainly announced his intention to return to Christiansand and join the ship. But it could be said of the coxswain that his ways were dark, and Stockwell was more inclined to wait than to question him. In two hours the steamer arrived at Lillesand, and the party went on shore. The place was only a small village, but they found accommodations for the night.
“What time does the steamer for Christiansand leave this place?” asked Sanford, as the party gathered at the station-house, which is the hotel, post-office, and establishment for furnishing horses to travellers.
“To-morrow evening,” replied Ole.
“To-morrow evening!” exclaimed the coxswain. “That will never do! What time?”
“About eight o’clock,” answered the waif, whose devotion to the truth did not prevent him from stating the time two hours later than the fact warranted. “She may be two or three hours later.”