"I mean that I saw that boy of yours go by the tavern only two minutes
since."

"Where did he go? In what direction?" demanded Fox, eagerly.

"Down toward the river."

"He's running away," Fox said to himself, in dismay. "How in the the
world did he get out?"

He ran up the road, gazing anxiously on this side and on that, hoping
to come upon the runaway. One thing was favorable; it was a straight
road, with no roads opening out of it at least a mile beyond the
tavern. It led by the river at a point half a mile on.

"I'll catch him yet. He can't escape me!" Fox reflected.

John Fox pushed on breathless, and a minute later came in sight of the
fugitive.

Harry had sobered down to a walk, thinking himself no longer in
danger. If Mr. Fox had been wise enough to keep silent till he had
come within a few rods he might have caught him easily, but excitement
and anger were too much for prudence, and he called out, angrily:
"Just wait till I get hold of you, you young villain! I'll give you a
lesson."

Harry turned quickly and saw his enemy close upon him.