Syd Belton Part 15

"There's lots o' rabbits about here," grumbled Pan, "if we could catch some."

"Yes, and hares too, Pan, if we had a good gun. Come along."

They rambled along by the stream, finding before long a blackthorn laden with sloes, of which Pan ate two, and Sydney contented himself with half of one. Then they were voted a failure, and the blackberries growing in a sunny, open spot were tried with no better result.

At the end of another quarter of an hour a clump of hazel stubs came in view--fine old nut-bearers, with thickly mossed stumps, among which grew cl.u.s.ters of light golden buff fungi looking like cups; but though these were good for food, in the eyes of the boys they were simply toadstools, and pa.s.sed over for the sake of the fringed nuts which hung in twos and threes, even here and there in fours and fives.

It did not take long to get a capful of these, and they soon sat down to make their _al fresco_ meal.

Another disappointment! The nuts, as they cracked them, were, with a few exceptions, full of a blackish dust, and the exceptions contained in addition a poor watery embryo of a nut that was not worth the cracking to obtain.

They gave up the food hunt in despair, for there was no cultivated land near, where a few turnips might have been obtained; and wandering slowly back they at last reached the road.

The search had not been, though, without result--it had taken time; and when they reached the solitary road the sun was so near setting, that after a final protest from Pan, Syd started at once for home and the scenes they had to face.

The route they had chosen for their flight was the most solitary leading from Southbayton. It was but little used, leading as it did right out into the forest, and in consequence they had it almost to themselves while the light lasted, and after dark they did not pa.s.s a soul as they made their way to the Heronry, under whose palings they stood at last to debate in whispers on the next step.

Pan was for flight after they had been on into the town and bought some bread and cheese; but the position in which they were brought out Sydney's best qualities.

"No," he said, "we've done wrong, and I'll face it out."

"But I won't--I can't," whimpered Pan. "How do I know as father isn't waiting just inside the gate with that there bit of rope?"

"You must, and you shall come back, Pan," said Sydney, decisively.

"It's of no use to kick against it. Am I to hit you again?"

"I d' know," whimpered Pan. "I'm the most miserable chap as ever was.

Every one's agen me. Even you knocks me about, and I didn't think it of you, Master Syd--I didn't; I thought you would be my friend."

"So I am, Pan, only you don't know it. Come now, get up. Go in with me, and let's walk straight in to the dining-room, and ask father to forgive us."

"I would ha' done it at first," whimpered Pan, "but I can't now."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm so 'orrid hungry."

"Well, so am I. Father will give us plenty to eat as soon as he knows.

Come along; it's only a scolding."

"No, Master Syd, I dursen't. You go and ask him to forgive you, and to order father not to hit me. P'r'aps I might be able to come then."

"You are the most horrid coward I ever knew," cried Sydney, impatiently.

"Do you think I don't feel how terrible it is to go and tell father I've done wrong? I'd give anything to be able to run right away."

"Come along, can't yer, Master Syd. Never mind being hungry; come on."

"No, Pan, I can't. Now then, don't try to sneak out of it. Come and face them, like a man."

"But I arn't a man, Master Syd, and I can't stir now. Oh dear! oh dear!

what will father say?"

"That I've got you at last," roared a gruff voice. "Hi! I've got 'em-- here they are!"

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Barney, the old gardener, had been round the garden that evening, and had paused thoughtfully close to the tree where he had had his adventure the night before; and as he went over the various phases of his little struggle and his fall, thinking out how he would have proceeded had he got hold of that boy again, he fancied he heard whispering.

The fancy became certainty, and creeping inch by inch closer to the palings, without making a rustle among the shrubs, he soon made himself certain of who was on the other side.

Barney's face did not beam. It never had done so, but it brightened with a grin as he slowly and cautiously backed out of the shrubs on to the path, stepped across on to the gra.s.sy verge, and set off at a trot in true sailor fashion up the garden toward the house to give the alarm.

"Nay, I won't," he said, as he neared the door. "They two may have cut and run again before I get them two old orsifers round outside. Sure to have gone, for the skipper goes along like a horse, while the admiral's more like a helephant on his pins. Scare any two boys away, let alone them. Lor', if I had on'y brought that there bit o' rope!"

But Barney had left it in his cottage; and as he reached the gate he stood to consider.

"Now if I goes down here from the gate, they'll hear me, and be scared away. I know--t'otherwise."

Chuckling to himself, he circ.u.mnavigated, as he would have called it, the park-like grounds of the Heronry, a task which necessitated the climbing of two high fences and the forcing a way through a dense quickset hedge.

But these obstacles did not check the old sailor, who cleared the palings, reached the road at the other side, panting, stopped to get his breath, and then crept along through the darkness on the tips of his toes, treating the tall palings as if they were the bulwarks of a ship, and by degrees edged himself up nearer and nearer till he was able to pounce upon the fugitives in triumph.

Pan uttered a howl, dropped down, and lay quite still; but as the ex-boatswain grappled Sydney by the coat, the lad wrenched himself free and kept his captor at bay.

"No, no," cried Barney; "you don't get away. Hoi! help!"

"Hold your noise, you old stupid," cried Sydney. "Who wants to get away? Keep your hands off."

"Nay, I won't. I've got you, and I'll keep you."

"I tell you I was going home, only Pan wouldn't stir."

"Wouldn't stir, wouldn't he? We'll see 'bout that. Now it's of no use, Master Syd. You're my prisoner, so give in and cry quarter."

"I tell you I have given in; and once more, Barney, I warn you, I'm in such a temper I shall hit you."

"Yah! hit away, Midget, who's afeard! Do you s'render?"

"Yes, yes."

"Then you're my prisoner."

"Nonsense! Make Pan come."

"Make him come? Yes, I just will, my lad. But, I say, to think o' you two cutting yourselves adrift, and going off like that!"