“I shouldn’t care a snap if we had only found the barrel,” continued Clarence. “With my pockets full of money I could go anywhere; but as it is, how am I going to get home? That’s what troubles me. Of course I can’t stay here!” “No more can I,” said Godfrey. “Yes, you can. No one will ever say a word to you about it; but I can’t face any of my uncle’s family after what I have done. Of course Don will blow the whole thing the minute he gets out. He can’t avoid it, unless he tells a lie, and that’s something he says he never did in his life. I wish to goodness I could say as much!” Clarence had, beyond a doubt, placed himself in a very unpleasant situation, and the longer he talked and thought about it, the more vividly did the fact seem to impress itself upon his mind. One thing was certain: he could not stay under his uncle’s roof any longer, and he thought it would be policy to get as far as possible out of the way before the general returned. He ran around the corner of the crib to the place where the pony was standing, and paying no heed to Godfrey’s earnest entreaties that he would stay just long enough to tell him what he ought to do under the circumstances, Clarence sprang into the saddle and galloped out of the yard. Almost involuntarily he turned down the road toward Godfrey’s cabin. He had a vague idea that something might yet be done to avert the calamity he so much dreaded. If Don would promise to say nothing about what had happened the night before, and make up some plausible story to tell his father, he (Clarence) would release him, and read him a lecture on the subject of practical joking. That much being arranged, he could, perhaps, content himself on the plantation for two weeks longer, during which time he could write to his mother, who would be sure to send him money to take him home, if he asked for it. As soon as it arrived he would bid good-by to all his relatives in Mississippi; and when he was once safely on board a steamer bound up the river, he did not care how soon Don told about passing the night in the potato-hole. The longer Clarence thought of this, the more feasible did the plan seem. It all rested with Don, and he was a good-hearted fellow, who, for the sake of keeping his cousin out of trouble, ought to be willing to tell a lie. Clarence thought it would do do harm to ask him, at any rate; and with this object in view he put the pony into a gallop, and went down the lane at a more rapid rate than he had ever before travelled on horseback.