“Naw; you ain't going to get me in no such box as that. If she'd just read seven or eight hours I wouldn't mind; but she'll get you where she wants you and read 'bout a million hours. I know Miss Minerva.”
Billy's aunt was growing impatient.
“Come, William,” she called. “I am waiting for you.”
Jimmy went back to his own porch and the other boy joined his kinswoman.
“Why wouldn't Jimmy come?” she asked.
“He—he ain't feeling very well,” was the considerate rejoinder.
“Once there was a little boy who was born in Virginia—” began Miss Minerva.
“Born in a manger,” repeated the inattentive little boy to himself, “I knows who that was.” So, this important question settled in his mind, he gave himself up to the full enjoyment of his chum and to the giving and receiving secret signals, the pleasure of which was decidedly enhanced by the fear of imminent detection.
“Father, I can not tell a lie, I did it with my little hatchet,—” read the thin, monotonous voice at his elbow.
Billy laughed aloud—at that minute Jimmy was standing on his head waving two chubby feet in the air.