Chapter Twenty Three.
The Voyage of the Cock-House.
Yorke was roused before daybreak next morning by a voice at his bedside.
“Is that you, Yorke?”
The voice was Mr Stratton’s. The captain bounded to his feet at once.
“What is it, sir? Has he been found?”
“No,” said the master; “no news. Every place has been searched where he would be likely to be, except the mountain. It seems a very off-chance that he has gone up there; still, it is possible. He has been on it once or twice before. I am going there now. Would you care to come too?”
The captain gratefully acquiesced. For a week he had been chafing at the doctor’s orders that no boy should go beyond the bounds. His request to be allowed to undertake this very expedition had been twice refused already.
“The doctor has given you an exeat if you wish to go,” said Mr Stratton. “We are to take a guide, and it is quite understood we may be late in getting back. I shall be glad of your company.”
Yorke was ready in ten minutes—thankful at last to be allowed to do something, yet secretly doubting if anything would come of this forlorn quest.