Bertha often walked to the Glen before breakfast, and Noddy expected to find her there on the present occasion.  As she did not appear, he followed the path toward Woodville, and actually reached the lawn which surrounded the mansion before he thought of the danger he incurred.  But it was breakfast time in the servants’ quarters, and he was not seen.

Keeping on the outskirts of the lawn, where he could make good his retreat in case of necessity, he walked nearly around to the pier, and was so fortunate as to discover Bertha at the turn of a winding path, near his route.  The sight of her filled him with emotion, and brought to his mind the remembrance of the many happy days he had spent in her presence.  He could hardly restrain the tears which the thought of leaving the place brought to his eyes, though Noddy was not given to the feminine custom of weeping.

“Miss Bertha,” said he, as she approached the spot where he stood.

She started back with alarm; but he stepped forward from the concealment of the bushes, and with a smile of pleasure she recognized him.

“Why, Noddy, is that you?” said she, walking towards the spot where he stood.

“It’s me, Miss Bertha; but I suppose you don’t want to see me now.”

“I am very glad to see you.  What did you go away for?”

“Because they were going to put me in the court-house.”

“In the court-house!” exclaimed Bertha, who was better acquainted with legal affairs than her pupil.

“Yes, for setting the boat-house afire.”

“I don’t think they intended to take you to the court-house.”

“O, I know they did.  I have had two constables after me; but I got away from them.  Besides, I heard Squire Wriggs say they were going to take me to the court-house.  I heard him say so myself.”

“Perhaps it is so,” said Bertha, musing.  “Squire Wriggs came to see father yesterday morning.  They went out together, and were speaking of you as they left the house.”

“I’m glad you didn’t have anything to do with it,” said Noddy, delighted to find that Bertha was not one of his persecutors.

Then, with the utmost simplicity, and apparently with the feeling that he was a persecuted youth, he told her everything that had occurred from the time he first saw Mr. Grant and Squire Wriggs on the lawn.

“I don’t know what my father’s plans are,” said Bertha, sadly; “but he thinks it is no longer safe to permit you to roam about the place.  He is afraid you will set the house on fire, or do some other terrible thing.”

“But I wouldn’t, Miss Bertha,” protested Noddy.

“Why did you do such a wicked thing?”

“I couldn’t help it.”

“Yes, you could, Noddy.  That’s only making a bad matter worse.  Of course you could help setting a building on fire.”

“It wasn’t my fault, Miss Bertha,” stammered he; “I can’t explain it now ­perhaps some time I may; and when you understand it, you won’t think so bad of me.”

“If there is anything about it I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?” added Bertha, mystified by his strange remark.

“I can’t say anything now.  Please don’t ask me anything about it, Miss Bertha.  I’m not half so much to blame as you think I am; but I set the fire, and they are after me for it.  They have used all sorts of tricks to catch me; but I’m not going into any court-house, or any tinker’s shop.”

“What tricks do you mean?”

“They said they had a lot of money for me, and that Squire Wriggs wouldn’t do me any harm.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about that.  Father went over to Whitestone with Squire Wriggs, after you ran away.  He went over again last night, after he came from the city, and I haven’t seen him for more than a moment since.”

“He is going to send me to the court-house,” said Noddy, fully satisfied that Bertha knew nothing about the proceedings of her father.  “I am going to sea, now.”

“To sea, Noddy?”

“Yes, I’m going to work and win, as you told me, and when I come back I shall be respectable.”

Bertha had her doubts on this point.  She had almost lost all hope of her protege, and she did not think that a voyage in the forecastle of a ship would be likely to improve his manners or his morals.

“I can’t let you go, Noddy,” said she.

“I must go; if I stay here they will put me in prison.  You don’t want to see me put in prison, Bertha.”

“I don’t.”

“Then what can I do?  The officers are after me this moment.”

“But I shall have to tell my father that I have seen you.”

“You may do that; and you may tell him, too, that it won’t be any use for him to try to find me, for I shall keep out of the way.  If they catch me they will be smarter than I am,” added Noddy, confidently.

“I want to see you again, Noddy, after I have talked with father about you.  I don’t believe he intends to send you to prison.”

“I know he does.  I come over here to see you before I went away.  I couldn’t go without seeing you, or I shouldn’t have come.  I may never see you again, for I shan’t run any more risks after this.”

Bertha said all she could to induce him to meet her again; but the cunning youth was afraid that some trap might be set to catch him, and he assured her that this was positively his last appearance at Woodville for the present.  He was satisfied that Mr. Grant had taken the case into his own hands, and that she could not save him if she would.

“Now, good-bye, Miss Bertha,” said he, wiping a tear from his face.

“Don’t go, Noddy,” pleaded she.

“I must.”

“You haven’t any clothes but those you have on, and you have no money.”

“I don’t want any.  I can get along very well.  Won’t you shake hands with me before I go?”

“Certainly, I will,” replied she, giving him her hand.  “You will not let me do anything for you now?”

“You have done more than I deserve.  Good-bye, Miss Bertha,” said he, pressing the hand he held.

“Good-bye, Noddy,” replied she.  “Good-bye, if you must go.”

“There comes your father,” exclaimed he, as he bounded off into the grove with the speed of an antelope.

“Was that Noddy?” asked Mr. Grant, as he joined Bertha a few minutes later.

“Yes, father.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he was here, Bertha?”

“He came but a few moments ago.  He came to bid me good-bye.”

“Where is he going?”

“He is going to sea.  He says you intend to take him to the court-house.”

“This is very unfortunate.  A most remarkable event in regard to the boy has occurred, which I haven’t time to tell you about now.  It is very important that I should find him at once.”

“I don’t think you can catch him.  He is very much afraid of being sent to prison.”

“I had no intention of sending him to prison,” laughed Mr. Grant.

“But he heard Squire Wriggs say he must take him over to the court.”

“That was for another matter ­in a word, to have a guardian appointed, for Noddy will be a rich man when he is of age.”

“Noddy?” exclaimed Bertha.

“Yes; but I haven’t a moment to spare.  I have been at work on his affairs since yesterday morning.  They are all right now; and all we want to enable us to complete the business is the presence of the boy.”

“Poor fellow!  He is terribly worked up at the idea of going to the court-house, or even to a tinker’s shop, as he calls it.”

“Well, he is running away from his own fortune and happiness; and I must find him.”

“I hope you will, father,” said Bertha, earnestly, as Mr. Grant hastened away to organize a pursuit of the refugee.

All the male servants on the place were summoned, and several started off in the direction in which Noddy had retreated.  The boatman and others were sent off in the boats; and the prospect was, that the fugitive would be captured within a few hours.  As our story relates more especially to the runaway himself, we shall follow him, and leave the well-meaning people of Woodville to pursue their investigations alone.

When Noddy discovered Mr. Grant, he was satisfied that the gentleman saw him, for he quickened his pace, and walked towards the place where he stood holding Bertha’s hand.  He ran with all his might by the familiar paths till he reached the Glen.  There were, at present, no signs of a pursuit; but he was confident that it would not be delayed, and he did not even stop to take breath.  Rushing down to the water, he embarked in the skiff, and rowed up the river, taking care to keep in shore, where he could not be seen from below.

Above Van Alstine’s Island, he crossed the river, and began to work his way down; but the white sails of the Greyhound were seen, with all the boats belonging to the estate, headed up stream.  They were chasing him in earnest, and he saw that it was not safe to remain on the river.

“Do you know where Mr. Grover lives?” he asked of a ragged boy who was fishing on the bank of the river.

“Below Whitestone?”

“Yes.”

“Will you take this boat down there?”

“I will,” replied the boy, glad of the job, and willing to do it without any compensation.

Noddy had taken off the tights belonging to the circus company, and rolled them up in a bundle.  In order to be as honest as Bertha had taught him to be, ­though he was not always so particular, ­he engaged the boy to leave them at the circus tent.

The boy got into the boat, and began his trip down the river.  Noddy felt that he had been honest, and he was rather proud of the record he was to leave behind him; for it did not once occur to him that borrowing the boat without leave was only a little better than stealing it, even if he did return it.

The servants at Woodville and the constables at Whitestone were on his track, and he had no time to spare.  Taking a road leading from the river, he walked away from it as fast as he could.  About three miles distant, he found a road leading to the northward; and thinking it better to suffer by excess of prudence than by the want of it, he took this direction, and pursued his journey till he was so tired he could go no farther.

A farmer on the road gave him some dinner; and when he had rested himself, he resumed his walk.  At sunset he reached a large town on the river, where he felt safe from pursuit until he saw the flaming hand-bills of the Great Olympian Circus, which was almost as bad as meeting one of the constables, for these worthies would expect to find him at the tent, and probably were on the watch for him.

Noddy was too tired to walk any farther that day.  He wanted to reach some large seaport, like New York or Boston, where he could find a vessel bound on a foreign voyage.  He was almost afraid to go to the former city, for he had heard about the smart detectives they have there, who catch any person guilty of crime, though they never saw him before.  He had told Bertha that he intended to go to sea; and he was afraid that Mr. Grant would be on the watch for him, or set some of these detectives to catch him, if he went there.

It was almost time for the steamers for Albany, which went up in the night, to reach the town, and he determined to go on board of one, and proceed as far up the river as he could with the small sum of money in his possession.  He soon found the landing-place, and presently a steamer came along.

“Where do you want to go, boy?” asked one of the officers of the boat.

“I want to go to Albany; but I haven’t money enough to pay my fare.”

“How much money have you got?”

“Thirty-five cents.  I will go as far as that will pay my fare.”

“That will only be to the next landing-place.”

“Couldn’t you give me some work to do, to pay my fare up to Albany?”

The officer happened to be rather pleased with Noddy, and told him he might stand by and help land the baggage at the stopping-places.  He gave the little wanderer some supper in the mess-room, after the boat got off, and Noddy was as grateful as though the man had given him a gold mine.  When the steamer made another landing, he worked with all his might, and was highly commended for his skill and activity.

And so he passed the night, sleeping between the stoppages, and working like a mule at every landing.  In the morning the boat reached Albany, and the officer gave him his breakfast with the engineers.  Noddy felt safe from pursuit now; he went on shore, and walked about the city, thinking what he should do next.