Bailey looked sheepish, and felt it. There was something in the tone of Mr. Bankes' voice which was a little trying. Bertie hung his head, and held his peace. "Lost your tongue? Poor little dear! Speak up. What are you doing here this time of day?" "If you please, sir, I'm running away." "Running away!" For a moment Mr. Bankes started. Then he burst into a loud and continued roar of laughter, which had an effect upon Bertie very closely resembling that of an extinguisher upon a candle. "I say, Bailey, what are you running away for?" Under the circumstances Bertie felt this question cruel. When he had last seen Mr. Bankes the question had been put the other way. He had been treated as a poor-spirited young gentleman because he had not run away already. Plucking up courage, he looked up at his questioner. "You told me to run away." The only immediate answer was another roar of laughter. Something very like tears came into the boy's eyes, and his face assumed that characteristically sullen expression for which he was famous. This was not the sort of treatment he had expected. "You don't mean to say--now look me in the face, youngster--you don't mean to say that you're running away because I told you to?" The last words of the question were spoken very deliberately, with a slight pause between each. Bertie's answer was to the point. He looked up at Mr. Bankes with that sullen, bull-dog look of his, and said,-- "I do." "And where do you think you're running to?" "To the Land of Golden Dreams." There was a sullen obstinacy about the lad's tone, as though the confession was extracted from him against his will. "To the Land of Golden Dreams! Well! Here, you'd better get up. I'll give you a lift upon the road? and there's a word or two I'd like to say as we are going." Bertie climbed up to the speaker's side, and Mary Anne was again in motion. The swift travelling through the sweet, fresh morning was pleasant; and as the current of air dashed against his cheeks Bertie's heart began to re-ascend a little. For some moments not a word was spoken; but Bertie felt that Mr. Bankes' big black eyes wandered from Mary Anne to him, and from him to Mary Anne, with a half-mocking, half-curious expression. "I say, boy, are any of your family lunatics?" The question was scarcely courteous. Bertie's lips shut close. "No." "Quite sure? Now just you think? Anybody on your mother's side just a little touched? They say insanity don't spring to a head at once, but gathers strength through successive generations." Bailey did not quite understand what was meant; but knowing it was something not exactly complimentary he held his peace. "Now--straight out--you don't mean to say you're running away because I told you to?" "Yes, I do." "And for nothing else?" Bertie paused for a moment to consider. "I don't know about nothing else, but I shouldn't have thought of it if you hadn't told me to."