Syd Belton

CHAPTER SIX.

A long tramp in silence; but they did not get over the ground very rapidly, for Pan's pace grew slower and slower, and when urged by Sydney to keep up he made no reply.

"Come along," said Syd at last; "do try and make haste."

"I arn't in a hurry," came in a surly growl.

"But I am. I want to get back before it's light; we don't want to be seen."

"Don't matter whether we're seen or whether we arn't; they'll be awaitin' for us."

"Can't help it, Pan," said Syd with a sigh; "we've got to go through it."

"I hope, Master Syd, you won't get no rope's-end."

"I'd take yours for you if I could, Pan."

"Ah, you say so," sneered the lad, as he dragged one foot after the other, "but you know you can't."

"I know I would," cried Syd, hotly. "But it's of no use to talk. We've got to go through it like men would."

"Men don't have no rope's-ending," grumbled Pan.

They went on back for another half-mile, with the stars s.h.i.+ning brightly, and seeming to wink derisively at them; and just as Sydney had fancied this, as he gazed up at the broad band of glittering light seen through the dense growth of trees which shut them in on either side, a loud, ringing, mocking laugh smote their ears, that sounded so strange and jeering, that the boys stopped short.

"What's that?" whispered Syd.

"Only a howl. Why, you've heard 'em lots of times."

"But it never sounded like that before."

"You never heard it out in the woods before. There she goes again."

The shout rang out again, but more distant. "Hoi, hoi, hoi, hoi!"

sounding now more like a hail.

"Oh, yes, it is an owl,"

Pan did not move, but stood with his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders up to his ears.

"Do you hear? Come along, and let's get it over."

No answer--no movement.

"Don't be stupid, Pan. I know you're tired, but you are no more tired than I am."

"Yes, I am--ever so much."

"You're not. You're pretending, because you don't want to come back.

Now then, no nonsense."

Pan stood like a stork, with his chin down upon his chest.

"Will--you--come--on?"

It was very dark, but Sydney could just make out that the boy shook his head.

"Then it isn't because you are so tired. It's obstinacy."

No response.

"I declare you're as obstinate as an old donkey; and if you don't come on I'll serve you the same."

Pan did not stir.

"Do you want me to cut a stick, and make you come, Pan?"

Still no reply; and weary, hungry, and disgusted with himself as well as his companion, Sydney felt in that state of irritable rawness which can best be described as having the skin off his temper. He was just in the humour to quarrel; and now, stirred beyond bearing by his companion's obstinacy, Syd flew at him, grasped his arm, gave it a tug which s.n.a.t.c.hed it from the pocket, and roared out--

"Come on!"

Then he retreated a step, for, to his intense surprise, there came from the lad, who had always been obedient and respectful, a short, snappish "Shan't!" which was more like the bark of a dog than the utterance of a boy.

"What!" cried Sydney, as he recovered from his surprise, and felt the blood flush in his face.

"Says I shan't. I arn't coming home to be larruped."

"You are not coming home?"

"No, I arn't. He's waitin' for me with a big rope's-end all soaked hard, and I know what that means, so I shan't come."

Sydney drew a long breath as he reviewed their position, and told himself that it was more his fault than that of the gardener's boy that they were there.

"I know better than he does, and ought to have stopped him instead of going with him, and he shall come back, because it's right."

"Now then, Pan," he said aloud, "I am going back home."

"All right, Master Syd, go home then; but I didn't think you was such a coward."

"It isn't being a coward to go back, Pan; it's being a coward to run away."

"No, it arn't."

"Yes, it is, so come along."

"I shan't."