Mecklemburg House was already a thing of the past That petty poring over books, which some call study, and which Mr. George Washington Bankes had declared was such a culpable waste of time, was gone for ever. No more books for him; no more school; no more rubbish of any kind. The world was at his feet for him to pick and choose.

By the time he had got to Cobham he was making up his mind as to the particular line of heroism to which he would apply himself. The old town, for Cobham calls itself a town, was still and silent, apparently unconscious of the glorious morning which was dawning on the world, and certainly unconscious of the young gentleman who was pa.s.sing through its pleasant street, scheming schemes which, when brought to full fruition, would proclaim him a hero in the sight of a universe of men.

"I'll be a highwayman; I'd like to be; I will be. If a coach and four were to come along the road this minute I'd stop the horses. Yes! and I'd set one of them loose, and I'd mount it, and I'd go to the window of the coach, and I'd say, 'Stand and deliver.' And I'd make them hand over all they'd got, watches, purses, jewellery, everything--I shouldn't care if it was 10,000."

He fingered the one and fivepence in his pocket; the sound of the rattling coppers fired his blood.

"And then I'd dash away on the horse's back, and I'd buy a ship, and I'd man it with a first-rate crew, and I'd sink it in the middle of the sea. And, first of all, I'd fill the long-boat with everything that I could want--guns, and pistols, and revolvers, and swords, and bullets, and powder, and cartridges and things--and I'd get into it alone, and I'd say farewell to the sinking ship and crew, and I'd row off to a desert island, and I'd stop there five-and-twenty years. Yes; and I'd tame all the birds and animals and things, and I'd be happy as a king. And then I'd come away."

He did not pause to consider how he was to come away; but that was a detail too trivial to deserve consideration. By this time Cobham was being left behind; but he saw nothing save the life which was to be after he had left that desert isle.

"I'd go to Sherwood Forest, and I'd live under the greenwood tree, and I'd form a band of robbers, and I'd have them dressed in green, and I'd seize the Archbishop of Canterbury, and I'd make him fight me with single-sticks, and I'd let the beggars go, and I'd give the poor all the booty that I got."

What the rest of the band would say to this generous distribution of their hard-earned gains was another detail which escaped consideration.

"And I'd be the oppressor of the rich and the champion of the poor, and I'd make everybody happy." How the rich were to be made happy by oppression it is difficult to see; but so few systems of philosophy bear a rigorous examination. "And I'd have peace and plenty through the land, and I'd have lots of fighting, and if there was anybody in prison I'd break the prisons open and I'd let the prisoners out, and I'd be Ruler of the Greenwood Tree."

His thoughts turned to Jack the Giant-Killer. By now the day was really breaking, and with the rising sun his spirits rose still higher. The moonlight merging into the sunshine filled the country with a rosy haze, which was just the kind of thing for magic.

"I wish there still were fairies."

If he only had had the eyes no fairyland would have been more beautiful than the world just then.

"No, I don't exactly wish that there were fairies--fairies are such stuff; but I wish that there were giants and all that kind of thing.

And I wish that I had a magic sword, and a purse that was always more full the more you emptied it, and that I could walk ten thousand miles a day. I wish that you had only got to wish for a thing to get it--wouldn't I just start wishing! I don't know what I wouldn't wish for."

He did not. The catalogue would have filled a volume.

"But the chief thing for which I'd wish would be to be exactly where I am, and to be going exactly where I'm going to."

He laughed, and thrust his hands deeper in his pockets when he thought of this, and was so possessed by his emotions that he kicked up his heels and began to dance a sort of fandango in the middle of the road.

He perceived that it was a pleasant thing to wish to be exactly where he was, and to be so well satisfied with the journey's end he had in view. It is not every boy who is bound for the Land of Golden Dreams; and especially by the short cut which reaches it by way of the Cobham road.

So far he had not met a single human being, nor seen a sign, nor heard a sound of one. But when he had fairly left Cobham in the rear, and was yet engaged in the performance of that dance which resembled the fandango, he heard behind him the sound of wheels rapidly approaching.

They were yet a considerable distance off, but they were approaching so swiftly that one's first thought was that a luckless driver was being run away with. When Bertie heard them first he started. His thought was of pursuit; his impulse was to scramble into an adjoining field, and to hide behind a hedge. It would be terrible to be re-captured in the initiatory stage of his journey to the Land of Golden Dreams.

But his alarm vanished when he turned and looked behind him. The vehicle approaching contained a friend. Even at that distance he recognised it as the dog-cart of Mr. George Washington Bankes. The ungainly-looking beast flying at such a terrific pace along the lonely road was none other than the redoubtable Mary Anne.

In a remarkably short s.p.a.ce of time the vehicle was level with Bertie.

For a moment the boy wondered if he had been recognised; but the doubt did not linger long, for with startling suddenness Mary Anne was brought to a halt.

"Hallo! Who's that? Haven't I seen you before? Turn round, you youngster, and let me see your face. I know the cut of your jib, or I'm mistaken."

Bertie turned. He looked at Mr. Bankes and Mr. Bankes looked at him.

Mr. George Washington Bankes whistled.

"Whew--w--w, if it isn't the boy who stood up to the lout. What's your name?"

"Bailey, sir; Bertie Bailey."

"Oh, yes; Bailey! Early hours, Bailey--taking a stroll, eh? What in thunder brings you here this time of day? I thought good boys like you were fast asleep in bed."

Bailey looked sheepish, and felt it. There was something in the tone of Mr. Bankes' voice which was a little trying. Bertie hung his head, and held his peace.

"Lost your tongue? Poor little dear! Speak up. What are you doing here this time of day?"

"If you please, sir, I'm running away."

"Running away!"

For a moment Mr. Bankes started. Then he burst into a loud and continued roar of laughter, which had an effect upon Bertie very closely resembling that of an extinguisher upon a candle.

"I say, Bailey, what are you running away for?"

Under the circ.u.mstances Bertie felt this question cruel. When he had last seen Mr. Bankes the question had been put the other way. He had been treated as a poor-spirited young gentleman because he had not run away already. Plucking up courage, he looked up at his questioner.

"You told me to run away."

The only immediate answer was another roar of laughter. Something very like tears came into the boy's eyes, and his face a.s.sumed that characteristically sullen expression for which he was famous. This was not the sort of treatment he had expected.

"You don't mean to say--now look me in the face, youngster--you don't mean to say that you're running away because I told you to?"

The last words of the question were spoken very deliberately, with a slight pause between each. Bertie's answer was to the point. He looked up at Mr. Bankes with that sullen, bull-dog look of his, and said,--

"I do."

"And where do you think you're running to?"

"To the Land of Golden Dreams."

There was a sullen obstinacy about the lad's tone, as though the confession was extracted from him against his will.

"To the Land of Golden Dreams! Well! Here, you'd better get up. I'll give you a lift upon the road? and there's a word or two I'd like to say as we are going."

Bertie climbed up to the speaker's side, and Mary Anne was again in motion. The swift travelling through the sweet, fresh morning was pleasant; and as the current of air dashed against his cheeks Bertie's heart began to re-ascend a little. For some moments not a word was spoken; but Bertie felt that Mr. Bankes' big black eyes wandered from Mary Anne to him, and from him to Mary Anne, with a half-mocking, half-curious expression.

"I say, boy, are any of your family lunatics?"

The question was scarcely courteous. Bertie's lips shut close.

"No."

"Quite sure? Now just you think? Anybody on your mother's side just a little touched? They say insanity don't spring to a head at once, but gathers strength through successive generations."

Bailey did not quite understand what was meant; but knowing it was something not exactly complimentary he held his peace.

"Now--straight out--you don't mean to say you're running away because I told you to?"