“None of your chaff,” said Jack. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he added, brightening up. “You let me have the trap, Bob, and I’ll drive over with Nell as soon as she has finished planting her ferns. We can take the basket with us. You’ll come, won’t you, Nell?”
“All right,” said I. And Bob having given his assent to the arrangement, and everybody being pleased, except Mr. Solomon Barker, who glared with mild malignancy at the soldier, the matter was finally settled, and the whole party proceeded to get ready, and finally departed down the avenue.
It was an extraordinary thing how that ankle improved after the last of the troop had passed round the curve of the hedge. By the time the ferns were planted and the gig got ready Jack was as active and lively as ever he was in his life.
“You seem to have got better very suddenly,” I remarked, as we drove down the narrow winding country lane.
“Yes,” said Jack. “The fact is, Nell, there never was anything the matter with me. I wanted to have a talk with you.”
“You don’t mean to say you would tell a lie in order to have a talk with me?” I remonstrated.
“Forty,” said Jack, stoutly.
I was too lost in contemplation of the depths of guile in Jack’s nature to make any further remark. I wondered whether Elsie would be flattered or indignant were anyone to offer to tell so many lies in her behalf.
“We used to be good friends when we were children, Nell,” remarked my companion.