I was not, I protested, and for a long time more we continued talking. Then at last the creaking of a board, or the noise of a mouse, startled us in earnest, and in a moment I had darted back to my bed. All was quiet again.
“Good-night, old boy,” I whispered.
“Good-night, old man. Awfully good of you,” he replied. “I’ll come to you to-morrow.”
And not long after we were both sound asleep.
I managed to keep down my bad marks below four next day, so that I was able once more to take my walks abroad in the playground.
It was with a little feeling of misgiving that I sallied forth, for Smith was at my side, reminding me of our resolution to escape, if only for a few minutes, to the free country outside. I would greatly have preferred not trying it, but Smith was set on it, and I had not the face to leave him in the lurch.
The far end of the playground, beyond the swings, broke into a patch of tangled thicket, beyond which again a little ditch separated the grounds of Stonebridge House from the country outside.
To this thicket, therefore, we wandered, after “showing ourselves” on the swings for a few minutes, for the sake of allaying suspicions. The other fellows were most of them loafing about on the far side of the gravel yard, where the marble holes were; so we managed to make our escape pretty easily, and found ourselves at length standing on the breezy heath. Once there, Smith’s whole manner changed to one of wild delight. The sense of freedom seemed to intoxicate him, and the infection seized me too. We scampered about in a perfectly ridiculous manner; up hills and down hollows, leaping over bushes, chasing one another, and, in fact, behaving exactly like two kids (as we were), suddenly let loose from confinement.
“I say,” said I, all out of breath, “suppose we run clean away, Smith?”
Smith pulled up in the middle of a scamper, and looked up and down on every side. Then the old solemn look came as he replied, “Where to, that’s it?”