Peter turned and looked at Buddy who, all unconscious, was rowing his table boat with a piece of driftwood for oar.
“That's so, aint it?” said Peter. “She's left the boy on my hands, ain't she? I guess I got to take care of him. Yep, I guess I have!”
When the doctor left the boat, half an hour later, he shook his head as he closed the door.
“Shiftless and unfeeling!” he muttered to himself. “'Left the boy on my hands!' Poor boy, I'm sorry for you, with a father like that.”
For he did not see Peter drop on his knees beside the curly headed child as soon as the door was closed, and he did not see how Peter took the boy in his arms. He could not hear what Peter said.
“Buddy boy,” said Peter, “how'd it be if you and Uncle Peter just sort of snuggled up close and—and et a big, red apple?”
V. BUDDY STEERS THE BOAT
NOW, don't you fret, Buddy-boy,” said Peter Lane with forced cheerfulness, “because I'm going to let you do something you never did before, and that I wouldn't let many boys do. You are going to help Uncle Peter steer this boat, just like you was a big man.”