"I am ready." I unfastened the chain from the post, and, with the best
of wishes for good-luck from John, who now seemed to be very well
satisfied with me, I walked around the side of the house, the bear
following as submissively as if he had been used to my leadership all
his life.

I did not see the boy nor the lemon-faced woman, and I was glad of it.
I believe they would have cast evil eyes upon me, and there is no
knowing what that bear might have done in consequence.

Mrs. Chester was standing in the door as I reached the road.
"Good-bye!" she cried, "and good fortune go with you!" I raised my
hat, and gave Orso a little jerk with the chain.

CHAPTER IX

A RUNAWAY

He was a very slow walker, that bear. If I had been alone I would have
been out of sight of the inn in less than five minutes. As it was, I
looked back after a considerable time to see if I really were out of
sight of the house, and I found I was not. She was still standing in
the doorway, and when I turned she waved her handkerchief. Now that I
had truly left and was gone, she seemed to be willing to let me know
better than before what a charming woman she was. I took off my hat
again and pressed forward.

For a couple of miles, perhaps, I walked thoughtfully, and I do not
believe I once thought of the bear shambling silently behind me. I had
been dreaming a day-dream--not building a castle in the air, for I had
seen before me a castle already built. I had simply been dreaming
myself into it, into its life, into its possessions, into the
possession of everything which belonged to it.

It had been a fascinating vision. It had suited my fancy better than
any vision of the future which I had ever had. I was not ambitious; I
loved the loveliness of life. I was a student, and I had a dream of
life which would not interfere with the society of my books. I loved
all rural pleasures, and I had dreamed of a life where these were
spread out ready for my enjoyment. I was a man formed to love, and
there had come to me dreams of this sort of thing.

My dreams had even taken practical shape. As I was dressing myself
that morning I had puzzled my brain to find a pretext for taking the
first step, which would be to remain a few days at the inn.

The pretext for doing this had appeared to me. For a moment I had
snatched at it and shown my joy, and then it had utterly
disappeared--the vision, the fancy, the anticipations, the plans, the
vine-covered h