It was a
bitter time for Bob. Dicky, curiously enough, took the first
realization of their predicament less hard. He was all eyes to see
what fate had in store for them in the way of a landing place.
As they swept through the last bank of clouds and the country below
spread before them, they saw that it was level pasture land for the
most part, divided by green hedges, with here and there a cultivated
field. A village lay some distance to the left, a mere cluster of
mean houses. No chateau or large building was in sight, but small
cottages were dotted about here and there in plenty.
"Not much room in one of those pastures," commented Dicky. "Mind you
pick a decent one. Don't spoil the hedge on the other side of it,
either."
Dicky's mood was infectious. Bob was sick at heart, but his friend's
joking way of speaking had its effect.
"Would you rather be starved to death or neatly smashed? Do you prefer
your misery long drawn out or all over in a jiffy?" Bob was joking
now, though grimly enough.
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