The child saw no reason why the same tactics should not serve every bit as triumphantly, in the present case.
He knew the maids were in the kitchen and at least one man was in the stables.

He did not want his whereabouts to be discovered before he should have been able to raise a healthy and dividend-bringing crop of remorse in the hearts of the Mistress and the Master, so he resolved to go farther afield.
In the back of the meadow, across the road, and on the hither side of the forest, was a disused cattle-barrack, with two stalls under its roof-pile of hay.

The barrack was one of Cyril's favorite playhouses.
It was dry and tight.

Through his thick clothing he was not likely to be very cold, there, for an hour or two.

He could snuggle down in the warm hay and play Indians, with considerable comfort; until such time as the fright and penitence of his hosts should have come to a climax and make his return an ovation.
Meanwhile, it would be fun to picture their uneasiness and fear for his safety; and to visualize their journeyings through the snow to the houses of various neighbors, in search of the lost child.
Buoyed up by such happy thoughts as these, Cyril struck out at a lively pace for the highroad and into the field beyond.