"You don't mean to say--now look me in the face, youngster--you don't mean to say that you're running away because I told you to?"
The last words of the question were spoken very deliberately, with a slight pause between each. Bertie's answer was to the point. He looked up at Mr. Bankes with that sullen, bull-dog look of his, and said,--
"I do."
"And where do you think you're running to?"
"To the Land of Golden Dreams."
There was a sullen obstinacy about the lad's tone, as though the confession was extracted from him against his will.
"To the Land of Golden Dreams! Well! Here, you'd better get up. I'll give you a lift upon the road? and there's a word or two I'd like to say as we are going."
Bertie climbed up to the speaker's side, and Mary Anne was again in motion. The swift travelling through the sweet, fresh morning was pleasant; and as the current of air dashed against his cheeks Bertie's heart began to re-ascend a little. For some moments not a word was spoken; but Bertie felt that Mr. Bankes' big black eyes wandered from Mary Anne to him, and from him to Mary Anne, with a half-mocking, half-curious expression.
"I say, boy, are any of your family lunatics?"
The question was scarcely courteous. Bertie's lips shut close.