“I’m goin’ to the city, gran’father,” the boy said. “I’ve gotter, on a—a—errand. I thought I’d tell you.”
“Good idea!” nodded the old head on the pillows. The old eyes twinkled kindly. “I suppose ye want me to go out to your traps, don’t ye? An’ do a little trawlin’ while I’m out? Jest speak the word!”
Uncle Jemmy said nothing about getting his own dinner, but the boy had thought of that.
“Judy’s comin’ in at noon,” he explained. “I’ve got everythin’ cooked up. An’ she’s goin’ to look at my traps when she goes out to hers. I’ll be back in the night, sometime; don’t you lay awake for me, now, gran’father!”
He went out, but presently appeared again, fumbling his best cap in palpable embarrassment.
“I wish—I don’t suppose—you wouldn’t mind wishin’ me good luck, gran’father, would you?” he stammered. “I’d kind of like to be wished good luck.”
“Come here where I can reach ye,” the old man said cheerily, putting out his hand. “Wish ye luck? I guess I will! Ye’re a good boy, Jemmy. I don’t know what your arrant is, an’ I don’t need to know, but here’s good luck on it!”
“I tell you what it is, if—if it succeeds,” Jem Three said, gripping the twisted old fingers warmly. “I kind of thought I’d rather not tell first off. But I can, of course.”
“Off with ye, boy! Ye distract me when I’m doin’ a bit of thinkin’ for a lady! When ye get good an’ ready, then will be time enough to do your tellin’. Queer if I couldn’t trust a Jem!”
The city was twenty miles inland from the little flag-station, and the flag-station was ten miles away from Jemmy Three. He trudged away with his precious boots over his shoulder, to be put on at the little station.