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To London

           Maybehisfather’soldfriendSirHumphreyMarlowwouldhelphim—‘goodoldSirHumphrey,HeadLieutenantofthelateKing’skitchen,orstables,orsomething’—Milescouldnotrememberjustwhatorwhich.Nowthathehadsomethingtoturnhisenergiesto,adistinctlydefinedobjecttoaccomplish,thefogofhumiliationanddepressionwhichhadsettleddownuponhisspiritsliftedandblewaway,andheraisedhisheadandlookedabouthim.Hewassurprisedtoseehowfarhehadcome;thevillagewasawaybehindhim.TheKingwasjoggingalonginhiswake,withhisheadbowed;forhe,too,wasdeepinplansandthinkings.AsorrowfulmisgivingcloudedHendon’snew-borncheerfulness:wouldtheboybewillingtogoagaintoacitywhere,duringallhisbrieflife,hehadneverknownanythingbutill-usageandpinchingwant?Butthequestionmustbeasked;itcouldnotbeavoided;soHendonreinedup,andcalledout—

           "Ihadforgottentoinquirewhitherwearebound.Thycommands,myliege!"

           "ToLondon!"

           Hendonmovedonagain,mightilycontentedwiththeanswer—butastoundedatittoo.

           

           Thewholejourneywasmadewithoutanadventureofimportance.Butitendedwithone

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