“Yes, that is the worst of it,” he said quietly; “and since I’ve found out that I can fight, I’m ever so much readier to punch anybody’s head.”
“But you don’t.”
“No; I don’t, because it don’t seem fair. I don’t care, though, how you laugh. I shall go on with my natural history even when I grow a man, and have to drive round like father does, giving people stuff. It gives you something to think about.”
“Yes, it gives you something to think about,” I said merrily. “I always get thinking about these.”
“I say: don’t,” cried Mercer; “you’ve upset my owl on to that blackbird. I wish you wouldn’t be so fond of larking.”
“All right, Tom; I won’t tease you,” I said. “It’s all right, and I’ll always go with you collecting. I never knew there were half so many things to see out of doors, till I went out with you. When shall we have a regular good walk through the General’s woods?”
“Any time we can get away,” he cried, brightening up. “I’m ready.”
“All right,” I said; “then we will go first chance.”
“We must tell Bob Hopley we’re going, or he may hear us in the wood, and pepper us, thinking it’s old Magglin.”
“What?”