Joe pantingly setting forth, in answer to his
comrade's questions, how he was going to be a sailor or a pirate, 'or
summat,' or to have a desert island like Crusoe. Of course, it was all
admirable to both of them, and, of course, it was all a great deal more
real than the fields they ran over.

The runaway was safely deposited in a roomy barn, and left there
alone, when once again a life of adventures began to assume a darkish
complexion. It was cold, it was anxious, it seemed to drag interminably,
and it was abominably lonely. If it were to be all like this, even the
prospect of an occasional taking off of one's shirt in the brewhouse
looked less oppressive than it had done.

The hidden Joe, bound for piracy on the high seas, or a Crusoe's island
somewhere, gave a wonderful zest to Master Richard's meal But an hour,
which seemed like a year to the less fortunate of the two, went by
before a raid upon the well-furnished larder of Perry Hall could
be effected. When the opportunity came, Master Richard, with no
remonstrance from conscience, laid hands upon a loaf and a dish of
delicious little cakes of fried pork fat, from which the lard had that
day been 'rendered,' and thus supplied, stole out to his hereditary
enemy and fed him. The hereditary enemy complained of cold, and his host
groped the dark place for sacks, and, having found them, brought them to
him.

'I say,' said Joe, when he had tasted the provender, 'them's
scratchings. That's gay and fine. I never had as many as I should like
afore. Mother says they're too rich, but that's all rubbish.'

He made oily feast in the dark, with the sacks heaped about him. With
Master Richard to help him, he began to swim in adventure, and the
pair were so fascinated and absorbed that one of the farm-servants went
bawling 'Master Richard' about the outlying buildings for two or three
minutes before they heard him. When at last the call reached their ears
they had to wait until it died away again before the surreptitious host
dare leave the barn, lest his being seen should draw attention to the
place.

Then Joe, who had been hunting wild beasts of all sorts with the
greatest possible gusto, began in turn to be hunted by them. The
rattlesnake, hitherto unknown to Castle Barfield, became a common
object; the lion and the polar bear met on common ground in the
menagerie of Joe's imagination. Whatever poor blessings and hopes he
had, and whatever schoolboy wealth he owned, he