'No one seems to know exactly how far it is,' I answered, and he chuckled as he puffed at his pipe. Then he began to eye me inquisitively, and presently, knocking out his pipe with a good deal of deliberation, he turned and walked away. I was beginning to feel that I had met with a rebuff, when he looked back and told me to follow him.

'Better pick up that terrier,' he said, 'because of the chickens.'

With Patch in my arms I followed the farmer round the house to an empty shed behind.

'You can have a shake-down here if you don't mind being locked in,' he said; and, although I would rather not have had the key turned, I at once consented. It was a large shed, and quite clean and fresh, but entirely bare. When I had been there about half an hour a maid opened the door, with a plate of cold beef and potatoes in her hand, and she stayed talking while Patch and I shared the meal. Soon after she had gone, taking the plate and knife and fork, the farmer came again, followed by a man with an armful of straw.

'I shall not lock you up,' he said, 'though I have been done so often you can't tell whom to trust and whom not. If you go to the back door to-morrow morning, you will get some breakfast.'

I have slept in more comfortable places, but still the shed was quite as good as anything I had a right to expect, while Patch's presence proved the greatest comfort. He lay down close beside me, artfully taking advantage of the straw, and when I felt very lonely--for I could not get to sleep for some time--I put out a hand and felt his coat.

(_Continued on page 106._)

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'You can have a shake-down here,' said the farmer."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'The question is, where did you get the dog?'"]

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 103._)

It was half-past six the next morning when I went to the farmer's back door, where the rough-looking maid provided me with a cup of coffee and a chunk of bread and b.u.t.ter, then, followed by Patch, I set out that Thursday morning on the road to Hazleton. The weather could not have been better, although the middle of the day promised to be excessively hot.

As I trudged along the pleasant road, I had some wild idea of reaching Hazleton that evening, but this was soon destroyed, for about a mile from the farm where we had slept, I noticed that Patch was limping.

Sitting down on a heap of stones by the roadside, I looked at his near hind paw, and saw that it was nastily cut, so that he could only walk in great pain. I suppose he had trodden on a piece of gla.s.s in the road.

Now I realised that I was in an awkward plight. Of course, Patch must on no account be left behind; but, on the other hand, how was I to get him along? Tearing a piece off the edge of the sack, I frayed out some of the thread and made a kind of bag, which I put over the wounded paw, tying it round the leg. This took some time, and, as the job was finished and Patch was licking my hand by way of thanks, I saw a large van approaching from the direction of the farm, driven by one of the fattest men I had ever seen. The cart was laden with bottles of ginger-beer and mineral waters, but, as it pa.s.sed us by, at a fair pace, a nosebag, which was tied behind, fell off into the road.

The driver, alone in the van, was entirely unaware of his loss until, rising from the heap of stones, I shouted to him to stop, and, picking up the nosebag, ran after the van. Pulling up his horse, he leaned down to take the bag, and then asked where I was going.

'To Hazleton,' I answered, as usual.

'That is about seventeen miles,' he said.

'The worst of it is,' I continued, 'my dog has cut his foot and can't walk.'

'Like a lift, doggie?' asked the fat driver.

'We should most awfully!' I exclaimed, eagerly.

'Well, now, listen to me,' was the answer. 'My round doesn't take me as far as Hazleton, but I am going to Watcombe, and that's ten miles short.

We shall not get there much afore evening, because you see I have to travel a good bit out of the main road, and stop at ever so many places on the way.'

At any rate, the proffered lift would take me within ten miles of Colebrook Park, whereas without such help I did not see how I was to get even so far unless I carried Patch in my arms. Besides, the drive was tempting in itself, the only drawback being that my remaining capital of one and fourpence would have to bear an extra strain, and, in case of more bad weather, it would probably be exhausted before I reached my destination. However, in a very few moments Patch and I were seated on the top of a wooden box full of lemonade bottles, the fat driver whipped up his horse, and we sped gaily along the country road.

CHAPTER XIII.

As I sat on the box of lemonade bottles, with a hand on Patch lest he should show a desire to jump down from the van, I noticed that he was sniffing curiously at the back of the driver's coat; and presently the driver in his turn began to look with equal interest at the terrier.

'He seems to know you,' I remarked.

'Come to that,' was the answer, 'I seem to know him. Looks to me most uncommon like Mr. Westrop's dog, he does.'

'Who is Mr. Westrop?' I inquired, holding Patch more tightly.

For a few minutes, without answering (for the fat driver was slow of speech and spoke in a deep voice which seemed to come from the direction of his boots), he divided his attention between the horse and the dog, and then fixed his small eyes on my face.

'The question is,' he said slowly, 'where did you get him?'

'You see, I found him,' I replied.

'Mr. Westrop's been in a bad way about his dog,' continued the driver.

'A very bad way. What do you think about it, Sam, old chap?'

The terrier, to my sorrow, showed what he thought about it by wagging his stumpy tail and whining with satisfaction, so that it would have been ridiculous to attempt to persuade myself that he failed to recognise the name of 'Sam.'

'I know most people betwixt here and Barton,' said the driver, laying his whip gently across the horse. 'Come to that, so I ought.'

'Do you live at Barton?' I asked, thinking of Mr. Turton and Augustus, and their wasted drive to that town.

'Just this side,' was the answer. 'That's where our factory is--half a mile this side of Barton. And every day of every week, for fifteen years or more, I've driven round the country with this van.'

'Are you going back to-night?' I inquired.

'Why, of course,' he exclaimed. 'Back by the straight road, after I've done my round.'

We had already left the wider road, and as the driver spoke he pulled up the horse at the door of a small rustic inn. Fastening his reins to a hook on his seat, he slowly dismounted, took a box of bottles from the van, carried it into the inn, returning after a short interval with the same box filled by a similar number of empty bottles. Then he climbed up to his seat again, unhooked the reins, and cried 'Gee-up' to the horse, which at once started at a smart trot along the lane.

'Now about this dog,' he began. 'Mr. Westrop used to live at the Beacon on Ramleigh Forest--I can remember before the house was built. He moved out last Friday to a house near Barton, and sure enough he has lost his terrier. Where did you find him? That's what I should like to know.'

'I don't know whether the house was called the Beacon,' I answered, 'because I didn't see any name. Patch had got locked in the drawing-room.'

'Well, now!' cried the driver, 'who would have thought the dog was fool enough for that! Locked in the drawing-room, were you, Sam, old chap?

And how did you get him out?'

When at some length I explained how I had been caught in the storm, and sought shelter in the empty house, and slept in the kitchen, and had been frightened by the ghostly noises in the middle of the night, the driver leaned forward and laughed so uproariously that I felt afraid lest he should fall from his seat on to the horse: and as soon as his merriment permitted him to speak, he turned to me with his great red face redder than ever.

'Well,' he cried, 'you are a nice young man for a small party, you are!

A nice young burglar, to be sure! Going and breaking into people's houses, cool as you please, and stealing their dogs. Howsoever,' he added, 'Mr. Westrop will be no end glad when I take Sam back to him to-night.'

I clasped Patch more closely.