“My boy,” exclaimed the squire, when Walter made his appearance, “what wild scheme is this? Why, surely you can’t be serious?”
“Indeed I am, father. You needn’t be afraid for me. It was not my own thought,—I’m sure it was put into my mind; besides, it will be capital fun just having to look after myself for a night or two, and a little roughing it will do me good.”
“And where do you intend to sleep and to put up, I should like to know?” asked Mr Huntingdon, half seriously and half amused.
“Oh, I’ll find a shakedown somewhere; and I’m sure to be able to get lots of eggs and bacon and coffee, and I could live on them for a week.”
“And I suppose I am to be paymaster,” said his father, laughing.
“Oh no, father, not unless you like. I’ve a sovereign still left; I’ll make that pay all, and I must do without things till I get my next quarter’s allowance.”
“Very well, my boy; but hadn’t you better take Harry or Dick with you?”
“O father! take old Harry! why, I might as well take the town-crier. Oh no, let me go alone. I know what Amos would say if it were he that was in my place; he would say that we may trust to be taken care of while we are in the path of duty.—May I go, then, father?”
“Well—yes,” said Mr Huntingdon, but rather reluctantly; and then he said, “But how shall I be sure that you haven’t got into any trouble? for I understand from your aunt that you make it a point of honour not to let us know where you are going to.”
“All right, father: if I don’t turn up some time to-morrow afternoon, I’ll manage to send a letter by some means or other.”