with children is an affair of the instant, or not at all, and I knew
him for my first chum.

He wormed himself up.

"Yer won't tell?" he said.

I had no notion what I was not to tell, but our compact demanded that
I should agree.

"Say 'I swear.'"

"I swear."

The heroes of my favourite fiction bound themselves by such like
secret oaths. Here evidently was a comrade after my own heart.

"Good-bye, cockey."

But he turned again, and taking from his pocket an old knife, thrust
it into my hand. Then with that extraordinary hopping movement of his
ran off across the mud.

I stood watching him, wondering where he could be going. He stumbled
a little further, where the mud began to get softer and deeper, but
struggling up again, went hopping on towards the river.

I shouted to him, but he never looked back. At every few yards he
would sink down almost to his knees in the black mud, but wrenching
himself free would flounder forward. Then, still some distance from