“Very good,” said the other dejectedly. “I obey orders, then.”
The next day passed quietly, the members of the household making a great fuss of Tucker, and thereby filling him with forebodings of the worst possible nature. On the day after, when the captain, having business at a neighbouring town, left him in sole charge, his uneasiness could not be concealed.
“I’m going for a walk,” said Chrissie, as he sat by himself, working out dangerous moves and the best means of checking them; “would you care to come with me, Tucker?”
“I wish you wouldn’t put it that way, miss,” said the boatswain, as he reached for his hat.
“I want exercise,” said Chrissie; “I’ve been cooped up long enough.”
She set off at a good pace up the High Street, attended by her faithful follower, and passing through the small suburbs, struck out into the country beyond. After four miles the boatswain, who was no walker, reminded her that they had got to go back.
“Plenty of time,” said Chrissie, “we have got the day before us. Isn’t it glorious? Do you see that milestone, Tucker? I’ll race you to it; come along.”
She was off on the instant, with the boatswain, who suspected treachery, after her.
“You CAN run,” she panted, thoughtfully, as she came in second; “we’ll have another one presently. You don’t know how good it is for you, Tucker.”
The boatswain grinned sourly and looked at her from the corner of his eye. The next three miles passed like a horrible nightmare; his charge making a race for every milestone, in which the labouring boatswain, despite his want of practice, came in the winner. The fourth ended disastrously, Chrissie limping the last ten yards, and seating herself with a very woebegone face on the stone itself.