"If mine gets the prize we'll divide the money," said Billy. "Five shillings it'll be, won't it?"
"Yes, but—oh, do you really mean it?"
"Of course I do! Half-a-crown each will be worth having, won't it?"
"Worth having? I should think so! But—but it wouldn't be fair to you if I took half your prize money."
"Oh, yes, it would be, because I should wish it."
The boys were walking on side by side now. There was a brief silence, then Harold suddenly exclaimed—
"You're a real brick, Billy. I've always been nasty to you about your gardening tools, and begrudged your having them—you must have seen it, yet you lent me your hand-fork when I broke mine, and—oh, it's been too mean of me! I'm sure if someone had stolen your marrow and I thought I was going to get the prize I shouldn't offer to divide it with you—at least, I don't think I should—"
"Oh, I expect you would!" Billy broke in. "Anyway, if I win the prize we go shares, mind! That's agreed."
The fields on the slope of the hill behind Rowley Cottage were now golden with corn as tall as the boys themselves, and ripening fast under the kisses of the hot August sun. The boys raced down the narrow foot-track behind each other, through the orchard, and into the garden. There they found William Brown whistling light-heartedly as he weeded his asparagus bed. He heard of the loss Harold had had with much concern.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am, Harold," he said; "it's a great disappointment for you. We must watch that Billy's marrow doesn't go in the same way."