had not forgiven him. And he had gone
without a word. He had kissed Dot and her mother, but only just pressed
his hand.

"Gone!" he said again.

"Yes, my boy," sobbed Mrs. Trevor. "But he is a sailor, and it is his
duty to serve his country and his Queen. You, my boy, must----"

The poor Skipper heard no more. With a bitter cry he rushed out of the
room, through the hall, and then along the path toward the swing gate,
hatless and desperate.

"I must tell father how sorry I am," he panted--"he must bid me
good-bye before he goes--I must--I must--tell him."

And then, setting his teeth hard, he ran at full speed to overtake the
Captain; for he was too young to understand the workings of his gallant
father's heart, and the agony he felt at parting, suddenly ordered, as
he had been, to be ready to start that night on a voyage to a deadly
part of the African coast--a place from which many who were sent never
returned.

CHAPTER V.

The Skipper ran as he had never run before. Through the gate and along
the sandy road, but, before he had gone a hundred yards three
rough-looking boys, who were out birds'-nesting, saw him coming, and,
moved by the same mischievous feeling, formed across the road, yelling
and hooting at him as he came on.

At another time the Skipper would have halted, and most likely have
turned back; but he was desperate now, and if there had been a dozen
boys there he would have done the same.

Clenching his fists tightly and setting his teeth harder, he charged at
the biggest of the three, who was in the middle of the road, his eyes
flashing as he ran. "Yah, hoo! Stop, thief! stop, thief!" yelled the
boy, throwing out his arms. "Stop!"

_Whop--smack--thud!_

The boy was rolling over in the dust. The Skipper had jumped over him,
and heard him howling as he ran on; but Bob did not turn his head; he
felt sure that he should see his father, as soon as he reached the
corner where the High Road ran by in a perfectly straight line through
the trees for a couple of miles, down hill and up hill, right past the
station at the level crossing.

But the poor Skipper was wrong; he reached the corner and stopped dead,
panting hard, for there, a good half-mile away, was the station fly,
with a pair of horses going at a gallop so as to catch the train. He
stood breathing hard, feeling half stunned, and at last, with head and
arms hanging, he turned off the road on to the grassy border, following
the pa