You cannot walk--you shall not walk--we must
hire a gig and drive home. I have enough money--all my month's
wages--see!" He felt in his pockets one after the other; his
countenance grew blank. "Why! where is my money gone to?"

Where, indeed! But that it was gone, and irretrievably--most likely
stolen when we were so wedged in the crowd--there could be no manner of
doubt. And I had not a groat. I had little use for money, and rarely
carried any.

"Would not somebody trust us?" suggested I.

"I never asked anybody for credit in my life--and for a horse and
gig--they'd laugh at me. Still--yes--stay here a minute, and I'll try."

He came back, though not immediately, and took my arm with a reckless
laugh.

"It's of no use, Phineas--I'm not so respectable as I thought. What's
to be done?"

Ay! what indeed! Here we were, two friendless youths, with not a penny
in our pockets, and ten miles away from home. How to get there, and at
midnight too, was a very serious question. We consulted a minute, and
then John said firmly:

"We must make the best of it and start. Every instant is precious.
Your father will think we have fallen into some harm. Come, Phineas,
I'll help you on."

His strong, cheery voice, added to the necessity of the circumstances,
braced up my nerves. I took hold of his arm, and we marched on bravely
through the shut-up town, and for a mile or two along the high-road
leading to Norton Bury. There was a cool fresh breeze: and I often
think one can walk so much further by night than by day. For some
time, listening to John's talk about the stars--he had lately added
astronomy to the many things he tried to learn--and recalling with him
all that we had heard and seen this day, I hardly felt my weariness.

But gradually it grew upon me; my pace lagged slower and slower--even
the scented air of the midsummer-night imparted no freshness. John
wound his young arm, strong and firm as iron, round my waist, and we
got on awhile in that way.

"Keep up, Phineas. There's a hayrick near. I'll wrap you in my coat,
and you shall rest there: an hour or two will not matter now--we shall
get home by daybreak."

I feebly assented; but it seemed to me that we never should get
home--at least I never should. For a short way more, I dragged
myself--or rather, was dragged--along; then the stars, the shadowy
fields, and the winding, white high-road mingled and faded from me. I
lost all consciousness.