“Thank-ye. I know whom you mean,” he replied. “Come on.”
As soon as we were out of sight of the cottage, Mercer laid an arm on my shoulder.
“I can’t say what I want to,” he said quickly, “but I liked that, and I won’t ever forget it. If ever old Eely hits you, I’ll go at him, see if I don’t, and I don’t care how hard he knocks me about, and if ever I can do anything for you, to save you from a caning, I will, or from any other trouble. You see if I don’t. I like you, Burr junior, that I do, and—and do come along, or we shall be late.”
Chapter Three.
“What a fuss about nothing!” I thought to myself, as we went on, down a beautiful lane, with tempting-looking woods on either side, and fox-gloves on the banks, and other wild-flowers full of attractions to me as a town boy. There was a delicious scent, too, in the air, which I had yet to learn was from the young shoots of the fir-trees, growing warm in the sunshine.
I had made no boy friendships up to then, and, as I glanced sideways at the pleasant, frank face of the lad walking quickly by me, just at a time when I had been oppressed by the loneliness of my position, fresh from home and among strangers, a strong feeling of liking for him began to spring up, and with it forgetfulness of the misery I had suffered.
“Hi! look! there he goes,” cried Mercer just then, and he pointed up into an oak tree.
“What is it?” I said excitedly.