“Don’t you know that I injured my ankle, and that I’m going to walk with crutches?”
“Eh?” he cried, starting. “I say, it ain’t so bad as that, is it?”
“Yes; I can’t put my foot to the ground.”
“Phew!” he whistled, with a look of pity and dismay in his countenance; “poor little foot.”
“I tell you I shall be a miserable cripple, I’m sure; but I’m going away, and you’ll never see me again.”
“Oh, won’t I?” he said, smiling. “You just go away, and I’ll follow you like a shadow. You won’t get away from me.”
“But don’t I tell you I shall be a miserable cripple?”
“Well,” he said, thoughtfully; “it is a bad job, and perhaps it’ll get better. If it don’t I can carry you anywhere; I’m as strong as a horse. Look here, it’s no use to deny it, you made me love you, and you must have me now—I mean some day.”
“Never!” cried Jenny, fiercely.
“Ah, that’s a long time to wait; but I’ll wait. Look here, little one,” he cried, passionate in his earnestness now, “I love you, and I’m sorry for all that’s gone by; but I’m getting squarer every day.”