Among boys there are laws of honour and chivalrous codes, not written or
formally taught, but intuitively understood by all, and invariably acted
upon by the loyal and the true. The race is not nearly civilized, we
must remember. Thus, not to follow your leader whithersoever he may
think proper to lead; to back out of an expedition because the end of it
frowns dubious, and the present fruit of it is discomfort; to quit a
comrade on the road, and return home without him: these are tricks which
no boy of spirit would be guilty of, let him come to any description of
mortal grief in consequence. Better so than have his own conscience
denouncing him sneak. Some boys who behave boldly enough are not
troubled by this conscience, and the eyes and the lips of their fellows
have to supply the deficiency. They do it with just as haunting, and
even more horrible pertinacity, than the inner voice, and the result, if
the probation be not very severe and searching, is the same. The leader
can rely on the faithfulness of his host: the comrade is sworn to serve.
Master Ripton Thompson was naturally loyal. The idea of turning off and
forsaking his friend never once crossed his mind, though his condition
was desperate, and his friend's behaviour that of a Bedlamite. He
announced several times impatiently that they would be too late for
dinner. His friend did not budge. Dinner seemed nothing to him. There
he lay plucking grass, and patting the old dog's nose, as if incapable of
conceiving what a thing hunger was. Ripton took half-a-dozen turns up
and down, and at last flung himself down beside the taciturn boy,
accepting his fate.

Now, the chance that works for certain purposes sent a smart shower from
the sinking sun, and the wet sent two strangers for shelter in the lane
behind the hedge where the boys reclined. One was a travelling tinker,
who lit a pipe and spread a tawny umbrella. The other was a burly young