seven o'clock
George burst into tears , and followed him after he had gone two paces ; he threw his arms round him , hugged him , kissed him on his lips , cheeks , and forehead , and then turning round , strode full speed towards Sunch ` ston . My father never took his eyes off him till he was out of sight , but the boy did not look round . When he could see him no more , my father with faltering gait , and feeling as though a prop had suddenly been taken from under him , began to follow the stream down towards his old camp . My father could walk but slowly , for George 's boots had blistered his feet , and it seemed to him that the river-bed , of which he caught glimpses now and again , never got any nearer ; but all things come to an end , and by seven o'clock on the night of Tuesday , he was on the spot which he had left on the preceding Friday morning . Three entire days had intervened , but he felt that something , he knew not what , had seized him , and that whereas before these three days life had been one thing , what little might follow them , would be another -- and a very different one . He soon caught sight of his horse which had strayed a mile lower down the river-bed , and in spite of his hobbles had crossed one ugly stream that my father dared not ford on foot . Tired though he was , he went after him , bridle in hand , and when the friendly creature saw him , it recrossed the stream , and came to him of its own accord -- either tired of his own company , or tempted by some bread my father held out towards him .