He was Charlie Archer, a new boy at Parkhurst, and some years our junior.

But from the first I had taken a remarkable fancy to this clever, good-humoured, plucky boy, who henceforth had become my frequent companion, and with me the companion of the others who now composed our party.

He now looked up and said, greatly to our surprise-- "I say, I don't want to go!" "Why not ?" we all asked.
"Oh, it doesn't matter," he replied, in evident confusion.

"I don't want to spoil your fun, you know, but I'd rather not go myself." "Why, what on earth's the matter with you, Charlie ?" I asked.

"I thought you were always ready for an adventure." "I'd rather not go, please," he repeated.