Robinson laughed, and told George he admired the country for these very traits. “Novelty for me against the world. Who'd come twelve thousand miles to see nothing we couldn't see at home? Hang the same old story always; where are we going, George?”
“Oh, not much farther, only about twelve miles from the camp?”
“Where to?”
“To a farmer I know. I am going to show you a lark, Tom,” said George. His eyes beamed benevolence on his comrade.
Robinson stopped dead short. “George,” said he, “no! don't let us. I would rather stay at home and read my book. You can go into temptation and come out pure; I can't. I am one of those that, if I go into a puddle up to my shoe, I must splash up to my middle.”
“What has that to do with it?”
“Your proposing to me to go in for a lark on the Sabbath day.
“Why, Tom, am I the man to tempt you to do evil?” asked George, hurt.
“Why, no! but, for all that, you proposed a lark.”
“Ay, but an innocent one, one more likely to lift your heart on high than to give you ill thoughts.”