The carpenter nodded. "That's right," he returned emphatically. "I hope He's got His eye on you right now and will see you through. You tie to Mrs. Lowell and you believe what she says."
"Uncle Nick doesn't want me to. He says I'm—I'm better off alone."
"You're the best judge of that, I should say," remarked Matt bluntly. "We're all entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I hope you'll get 'em, kid. Stand up for yourself. Do you like Mrs. Lowell?"
"I—I don't know.—It isn't any use for me to—to like her. Uncle Nick doesn't." They began to pass hedges of wild roses. "She likes—likes flowers," added the boy.
"Take her some, that's right, take her some," said Blake, stopping and going to the side of the road.
"You won't tell Uncle Nick?" said Bert anxiously.
"No, blast him, I won't tell him. Here, I've got a knife. They know how to defend themselves all right, don't they?"
Bert gathered some of the flowers, amazingly large and deep of color they were, and Matt cut more, and a charming bunch was in the boy's hand at last. Blake noted that the sight of it brought color into the pale face.
"This must be another secret," said Bert. "Mrs. Lowell and I have some already."