start at half-past six o'clock on Thursday morning.

I was very busy on Wednesday. I wrote a letter to my mother in which I
hoped I made it quite clear that ambition and not discontent was
leading me to run away. I also made a will, dividing my things fairly
between Rupert, Henrietta, and Baby Cecil, in case I should be drowned
at sea. My knife, my prayer-book, the ball of string belonging to my
kite, and my little tool-box I took away with me. I also took the
match-box from the writing-table, but I told Mother of it in the
letter. The captain used to light his fires by rubbing sticks
together, but I had tried it, and thought matches would be much
better, at any rate to begin with.

Rupert was lying under the crab-tree, and Henrietta was reading to
him, when I went away. Rupert was getting much stronger; he could walk
with a stick, and was going back to school next half. I felt a very
unreasonable vexation because they seemed quite cheerful. But as I was
leaving the garden to go over the fields, Baby Cecil came running
after me, with his wooden spade in one hand and a plant of chick weed
in the other, crying: "Charlie, dear! Come and tell Baby Cecil a
story." I kissed him, and tied his hat on, which had come off as he
ran.

"Not now, Baby," I said; "I am going out now, and you are gardening."

"I don't want to garden," he pleaded. "Where are you going? Take me
with you."

"I am going to Fred Johnson's," I said bravely.