Joe set foot on the bridge. He had crossed the boundary brook hundreds of times in his brief life, and it had generally come into his mind, with a boyish sense of adventure, that when he did so he was putting foot into the enemy’s country. But the feeling had never been so strong as now. The Mountain Farm was home, and beyond it lay the wide, wide world, looking wide indeed, and bleak and cold. What with hot rebellion at injustice and cold fear of the vast and friendless expanse, Joe’s tears multiplied, and leaning his arms upon the low coping of the bridge, with his head between them and his nose touching the frozen stone, he began to cry unrestrainedly. Suddenly he heard a footstep, and it struck a new terror into his soul. Freebooters, footpads, kidnappers, _et hoc genus omne_, roamed those fields by night, in course of nature. To the snug security of the home fireside and bed their images came with a delightful thrill of fear, but to be here alone and in the midst of them was altogether another thing. He crept crouching across the bridge, and stowed himself into the smallest possible compass between the end of the stonework and the neighbouring hedgerow, and there waited trembling. His pulses beat so fast and made such a noise in his ears that he was ready to take the sound of footsteps for the tread of a whole ogreish army, when he heard a voice. ‘Hode on a minute, while I shift the sack.’ The sack? It was easy--it was inevitable--to know that the sack contained a goblin supper. ‘I shall be late for tea, Ichabod,’ said another voice, ‘and then I shall get a blowing-up for coming.’ Let him who sighs in sadness here, Rejoice, and know a friend is near. Joe sprang from his hiding-place, and startled Master Richard and Ichabod more than a little. ‘That thee, Dick?’ He knew it well enough, but it was quite delightful to be able to ask it with certainty. ‘Hillo,’ said Master Richard, recognising his sworn friend. ‘What are you doing? Are you trapping anything?’ ‘No,’ the hereditary enemy answered. He had been crying, the poor little chap, until he had been frightened into quiet, and now on a sudden he was as brave and as glad again as ever he had been in his life. Once more adventures loomed ahead for the adventurous, and he shone within and grew warm with the sweet reflux of courage as he whispered, ‘I’m running away from home!’ Once again, the feat was glorious. ‘No?’ said Master Richard, smitten with envy and admiration. ‘Are you? Really?’ ‘Yes,’ Joe answered. ‘I’m agooin’ to Liverpool, to begin wi’.’ This was exquisitely large and vague, and Master Richard began to yearn for a share in the high enterprise upon which his friend had entered. He had half a mind to run away from home himself, though, to be sure, there was nothing else to run away from. In Joe’s case there was a difference.