"I wouldn't take the Mill—not now. I'll never take anything from him.
It's too late now."
She realised the futility of argument.
"You're tired," she said, "and so am I. We'll talk about important things again some day. Only don't—don't imagine people aren't your friends. If you'd only think, you'd see how jolly kind people have been to you over and over again. Didn't you ever wonder how you got off so well after trying to burn down the works? You must have. Anyway, it showed you'd got plenty of good friends, surely?"
"It didn't matter to me. I'd have gone to prison. I don't care what they do to me. They can't make me feel different."
"Well, leave it. We've had a good day and you needn't quarrel with me, at any rate."
"I don't know that. You're his friend."
"You surely don't want to quarrel with all his friends as well as him? We are going to be friends, anyway, and have some more good times together. I like you."
"I thought I liked you," he said, "but you called me a little fool."
"That's nothing. You were a little fool just now. We're all fools sometimes. I've been a fool to-day, myself. You're a little fool to hate anybody. What good does it do you to hate?"
"It does do me good; and if I didn't hate him, I should hate myself," the boy declared.