And if I walk ten miles a day I shall get home in eleven hundred and
eighty-three times ten, that's a thousand and--and--oh! what is it?
whatever is it? Bunty, you horrid little pig, can't you, tell me what
it is? My head aches too much to work, and a thousand and something
days--that's a year--two years--two years--three years before I get there.
Oh, Pip, Meg, three years! oh, Esther! ask him, ask him to let me come
home! Three years--years--years!"
The last word was almost shrieked and the child struggled to her feet
and tried to walk.
Bunty caught her arms and held her. "Let me go, can't you?" she said
hoarsely. "I shall never get there at this rate. Three years, and all
those miles!"
She pushed him aside and tried to walk across the loft, but her legs
tottered under her and she fell down in a little senseless heap. "Meg--
I'll fetch Meg," said the little boy in a trembling, alarmed
voice, and he slipped down the opening and hastened up to the house.
CHAPTER XI The Truant
He burst into Meg's bedroom like a whirlwind. "She's in the old shed,
Meg, and I'm not sure, but I think she's gone mad; and I've had the
awfullest beating, and got nearly killed with the cactus for her, and
never told anything.
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