“Thank you, dear,” said she. “Where is papa?” “Oh, he is in the line, and the Highmore swell and all.” “Mr. Richard Bassett?” “Air, his kid is out on the loose, as well as ours.” “Oh, Reginald, if they should quarrel!” “Why, our governor can lick him, can't he?” CHAPTER XL. “OH, don't talk so. I wouldn't for all the world they should quarrel.” “Well, we have got enough fellows to part them if they do.” “Dear Reginald, you have been so good to me, and you are so clever; speak to some of the men, and let there be no more quarreling between papa and that man.” “All right,” said the boy. “On second thoughts take me to papa; I'll be by his side, and then they cannot.” “You want to walk through the wood? that is a good joke. Why, it is like walking through a river, and the young wood slapping your eyes, for you can't see every twig by this light, and the leaves sponging your face and shoulders: and the briers would soon strip your gown into ribbons, and make your little ankles bleed. No, you are a lady; you stay where you are, and let us men work it. We shan't find him yet awhile. I must get near the governor. When we find my lord, I'll give a whistle you could hear a mile off.” “Oh, Reginald, are you sure he is in the wood?” “I'd bet my head to a chany orange. You might as well ask me, when I track a badger to his hole, and no signs of his going out again, whether old long-claws is there. I wish I was as sure of never going back to school as I am of finding that little lot. The only thing I don't like is, the young muff's not giving us a halloo back. But, any way, I'll find 'em, _alive or dead.”_ And, with this pleasing assurance, the little imp scudded off, leaving the mother glued to the spot with terror. For full an hour more the torches gleamed, though fainter and fainter; and so full was the wood of echoes, that the voices, though distant, seemed to halloo all round the agonized mother. But presently there was a continuous yell, quite different from the isolated shouts, a distant but unmistakable howl of victory that made a bolt of ice shoot down her back, and then her heart to glow like fire. It was followed by a keen whistle. She fell on her knees and thanked God for her boy. In the middle of this wood was a shallow excavation, an old chalk-pit, unused for many years. It was never deep, and had been half filled up with dead leaves; these, once blown into the hollow, or dropped from the trees, had accumulated. The very middle of the line struck on this place, and Moss, the old keeper, who was near the center, had no sooner cast his eyes into it than he halted, and uttered a stentorian halloo well known to sportsmen--“SEE HO!” A dead halt, a low murmur, and in a very few seconds the line was a circle, and all the torches that had not expired held high in a flaming ring over the prettiest little sight that wood had ever presented.