“We need never expect to see him again,” he said, breathlessly. “But—halloa! There are Mrs. Wooden and Miss Beauchamp, who boards with her. She teaches the district school here, and it’s just begun. They must be wondering what has become of me. Suppose we hurry up a trifle. You can ride back to the hotel with me, unless you care to stay and fish—for more tramps.”
“No, I thank you,” answered Gerald. “You would be nowhere near to help me fight them.” A determined flash came into the boy’s countenance, such as he had shown when he caught up the bit of rock in defiance of the ragged Sip.
“O, I beg your pardon,” he went on in his odd, rather grown-up manner; “I haven’t said how much obliged to you I am for coming down there.”
“You are quite welcome,” laughed his new friend, looking down with frank eyes upon the younger boy.
“Perfectly welcome, ‘Gerald,’ you were going to say,” added his companion, simply, feeling as if he had known for years this winning new-comer, who seemed not so much boy or man, but a confusion of both, that made up some one with whom he could speedily be on familiar terms. “Hark! Mrs. Wooden is calling you. That horse of yours is eating an apple out of Miss Beauchamp’s hand, too.”
The two Woodens and their boarder, Miss Beauchamp, walked forward to meet the boys as they advanced from the lane.
“Well, Philip,” was the white-headed old farmer’s greeting, “where did you fly to so sudden? Neither wife, here, nor I could set eyes on you. And so you’ve struck up an acquaintance with Master Gerald, have you?”
“Well, yes; and struck an acquaintance of his in the middle of his back,” responded Philip. “How do you do, Miss Beauchamp? Didn’t you, any of you, see the fight?”
“Fight!” cried Mrs. Wooden, clapping her fat hand to her bosom and nearly dropping the wooden tray of fresh butter she held. “Why, Philip Touchtone! Who has been a-fightin’? Not you—nor you?” she added, turning to Gerald.