After his meeting with the bishop he often wandered up into the
neighbourhood of St. Mark's with a vague hope that he might see again
the man who seemed to his boyish imagination a very king among men. It
had long been Tode's secret ambition to grow into a big, strong man
himself--bigger and stronger than the common run of men. Now, whenever
he thought about it, he said to himself, "Just like the bishop."
But he never met the bishop, and having found out that he did not
preach regularly at St. Mark's, Tode never went there after the second
time.
One afternoon in late September, the boy was lounging along with Tag
at his heels in the neighbourhood of the church, when he heard a great
rattling of wheels and clattering of hoofs, and around the corner came
a pair of horses dragging a carriage that swung wildly from side to
side, as the horses came tearing down the street. There was no one in
the carriage, but the driver was puffing along a little way behind,
yelling frantically, "Stop 'em! Stop 'em! Why don't ye stop the
brutes!"
There were not many people on the street, and the few men within sight
seemed not at all anxious to risk life or limb in an attempt to stop
horses going at such a reckless pace.
Now Tode was only a little fellow not yet fourteen, but he was strong
and lithe as a young Indian, and as to fear--he did not know what it
was.
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