“Were you fishing down in that lonely glen? It is a very fair spot for bass.”
“Yes; Mr. Wooden took me down into the ravine quite a little way above it. Do you know the place, sir?”
“O, yes, sir; I know the place very well, sir,” answered Gerald’s defender, with a quizzical twinkle in his eyes as he repeated those “sirs.” Then they both laughed. Gerald slyly compared their respective heights. His new friend could not be so very much taller. Certainly he was not over seventeen.
“You see, I was raised here—after a fashion,” went on the latter in his clear, strong voice. “You are one of the guests over at our Ossokosee House, aren’t you? I think I’ve seen you on the piazza.”
“Yes; I’ve been stopping there while my father is away. My name is Gerald Saxton, though almost every body calls me Gerald.”
“And mine is Philip Touchtone, but every body calls me Philip, and you needn’t call me ‘sir,’ please. I know Mr. Marcy, who keeps the Ossokosee, very well. It was to deliver a message from him to the Woodens about the hotel butter that I stopped here this afternoon. But do tell me how that scamp dared run after you? The minute I saw him and you, even as far off as Mrs. Wooden’s back door, I suspected that it was a tramp, and I didn’t hesitate very long.”
“No, you didn’t,” answered Gerald. And he walked along, swinging his arm manfully and fighting over again for Philip Touchtone’s benefit those details of the brief skirmish between himself and Mr. Sip that had hurriedly followed one another previous to Philip’s advent. He continued his furtive observation of his new friend all the time. Touchtone had gained about five feet four of his full height, with a broad, well-developed chest, active legs, and a good straight way of carrying himself that reminded one of his sharp, pleasant way of speaking. His hair was dark enough to pass for black, as would his eyes and eyebrows, although they were actually brown, and full of an honest brightness. As for his face, it was rather long, full, and not particularly tanned, though the sun was well acquainted with it. The most attractive feature of it was a mouth that expressed good humor and resolution. In short, Gerald might have easily made up his mind that Philip Touchtone was a person born to work for and get what the world held for him.
“Whew!” exclaimed he, as Gerald reminded him, “I forgot Mrs. Wooden’s carpet-beater! I threw it after your friend down there. He got the full benefit of it.”
“And I forgot my rod! I dropped it when I thought it was best to run.”
“Wait a minute and I’ll get both,” said Philip. “I know that identical rock where you say you stood—at the foot of the path.” And before Gerald could remonstrate Philip ran from his side and darted down into the glen where Mr. Sip must have still lurked in wrath. But sooner than Gerald could feel alarm for him Philip came back with rod and beater.