Go on--it's breaking day, and yuh haven't got any too much time to waste." I looked at him, at Spikes standing wearily on three legs but with his ears perked gamily ahead, and down at the gray, worn-out horse of Perry Potter's.

They have done what they could--and not one seemed to regret the service.

I felt, at that moment, mighty small and unworthy, and tempted to reject the offer of the last ounce of endurance from either--for which I was not as deserving as I should have liked to be.
"You worked all day, and you've ridden all night, and gone without a mouthful of supper for me," I protested hotly.

"And now you want to walk ten beastly miles of sand and hills.

I won't--" "Your dad cared enough to send for you--" he began, but I would not let him finish.
"You're right, Frosty," and I wrung his hand.