“We’re making excellent time, Richard.” Peter said happily. “We’ll be back in time for lunch and we may go hunting yet!” Richard found himself enjoying the ride home even more than the trip out. He was particularly fascinated with a large creek which ran alongside the road. As he watched the clear and bubbling ripples, Richard suddenly noticed another body of water a few miles off.

“I didn’t know there was such a large river nearby,” he said, almost asking. Peter turned to the right, following his gaze.

“There’s lots of rivers around here, we’re so near the sea,” he explained. Richard watched some floating branches ride the creek's gentle current. He fancied one of those large twigs was racing them.

Richard sighed with impatience. He wished he too could race atop the waters. How easier traveling would be! It wouldn’t take nearly as long to get where he wanted to go. While Richard thought in silence, his younger companion was observing his pensive stare.

“You like the water?” Peter asked him. Richard just sat up.

“What’s over there?” he pointed to a little path in the distance, on the other side of the creek.

“A village, eventually. Uh, Fishersbrooke,” said Peter. “Home of the great fish! At least, around here, ” he added “so they say.”

“Who say?”

“ ‘They’ say” Peter shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve never been there before?” asked Richard.

“Once, with father. But not since.” Peter said, looking towards the distant river. “I don’t think he wants me to go back.”

“Why not?” Richard was intrigued.

“I don’t know.” Peter answered. “He never really explained why.”

Richard was about to ask another question, when the cart gave a sudden jolt in the back.

While staring across the creek, Peter had not been watching the road. As a result, they rounded the road’s bend too sharply and the rear wheel hit a fallen log.

“Whoa!” The boys cried out in almost unison and Peter’s young reflexes pulled quickly at Azarias’ reins. The anxious yank on the bridle scared the horse, who reared up on his hind legs. This last thrust was all the bench needed to topple out of the cart.

“Oh, no!” Richard cried as he heard it fall. He quickly scrambled down to the ground. Peter was already out and back, looking at the fallen furniture. He gave a sigh of relief.

“It’s not broken?” His shocked friend stood by his side.

“No, ” Peter shook his head.

“That was quite fortunate,” Richard laughed.

“’Twas quite a blessing,” the peasant boy spoke softly. It truly was a blessing from God, for besides a little mud on the leg, the bench seemed to suffer no damage from the fall. Together the two children struggled to get the heavy load back into the cart. And were it not for their two Angels, they may have been at it for some time hence. But thanks to their unacknowledged Guardians, the boys managed at last to return the bench to its place.

“Then why not take it?” Richard asked.

“Because,” Peter laid a hand on the bench., “Papa wants us to stay on this side of the forest. That path goes through it and out the other side to where meets the highway.”

“The large road leads to Fishersbrooke?” Richard looked ahead.

“Yes,” Peter gently shoved the furniture. Good. It did not budge.

“You’re not afraid, are ye?” Richard sent his friend a quizzical look.

“Of Fishersbrooke?” Peter was insulted. “No!”

“I should like to see it,” the other boy said slowly. Peter just stared, at him and then at the woods.

“Well, you can’t” he said at last. “Because we have to be back by noon.”

“But you said we were making excellent time!” answered Richard. “Can’t you take us on a short trip?”

“ ‘No side trips,’ ” Peter quoted, shaking his head.

“But it isn’t really,” the other boy protested. “It goes right to where we are going, just a different way.”

“No, I said it could bring you back to Maristella. Once you get to that larger road, you would have to travel in the opposite direction from Fishersbrooke. That path ahead will bring us closer to Fishersbrooke, but if we return to Maristella, it won't bring us to it. And on top of all that, that path is on the wrong side of the woods.” Peter added simply. He looked as if the argument was settled. Richard was annoyed and getting impatient with his obstinate friend. Why not go that way? It’s faster! Richard asked him so, too.

“Because we’re not allowed to go that way.” Peter sounded somewhat impatient as well. Why does Richard keep arguing?

“You mean you’re not allowed.” Richard said hotly. Peter bit his tongue. He made it sound so inferior and degrading. Somehow Richard was the free one, not tied down to any rules, at least by Peter’s father, or so he acted.

“And what will happen anyway?" insisted Richard. “Even if we don't take a side trip to Fishersbrooke? We’ll be back in plenty of time - just as your father asked.”

“said!”, his friend corrected him.

“What difference does it make?” Richard groaned.

“A great one!” young Peter retorted hotly. “Why should it make any difference to you whether we go my way or not!” Peter watched his face, waiting for an answer. The lad just stood silent, returning his gaze. Neither spoke.

Why the change? Peter thought. He wondered what Richard was thinking. Peter didn’t like arguing with him really. He wanted to have it both ways: Follow his father’s orders and keep the friendship of this new boy, whom he’d grown to like a lot. If they hurried and got home, perhaps they could go hunting or something, instead of waste time here. They were losing the “excellent time” they had made.

“Look, let’s get this bench home - ” he began cheerfully.

“I’m not going to your home.” Interrupted Richard, a bitter tone in his voice. Peter was quite disappointed in his friend’s ill temper.

“Come on, Richard.” Peter ignored the rude remark. “Let’s get going.” He started walking to the front of the cart.

“Go, if you like,” Richard said, making no sign to move, “I’m not going back.”

Peter sighed wearily. “Why not?” he demanded.

“You return to your family, Peter” said Richard coldly, “And I to mine.”

“And where would that be,” the young lad spoke in sarcastic tones, “Fishersbrooke?”

“It’s a start,” responded the boy. Peter shook his head.

“Why not come back, Richard?” he asked desperately, “Father will be glad to help you find your family.”

Richard laughed. “He isn’t going to get very far if he’s afraid to leave the village.” The stinging insult pierced the hunter’s young son, which was Richard’s intention. But he was denied the satisfaction of a good reaction, for Peter held his tongue and said nothing.

“If I need anyone’s help, it’s yours,” Richard said quietly.

The peasant’ head turned sharply at his “friend”. “How?” he asked.

Richard smiled. There was an interest in his companion’s voice.

“What a treacherous bend in the road!” Richard panted.

“Nay, I was not watching where we were going.” Peter admitted. His companion was staring down the path ahead.

“Why were we turning?” Richard asked. “Why not follow the road straight?”

Peter followed his gaze. “That way,” the peasant pointed, “leads away from Maristella, though in a few miles it joins up with a larger road that could bring you back to the village.”

“‘Tis longer?” inquired Richard.

Peter shook his head. “No. The larger road is more of a highway really, so it actually would be faster."