“But I say, though,” said Harry, wiping his face with his pocket handkerchief, “it’s all right again, ain’t it? We’ve made it up again, haven’t we?”
“Yes, to be sure,” said Fred, smiling. “But who killed the poor ferret?”
“Why, you did,” said Harry; “you put your foot on his head; but it serves me right, it was all my fault.”
“Never mind, now,” said Philip; “let’s go down the garden again till tea-time; there’s a linnet’s nest in the hedge.”
“Ah! so there is,” said Harry; “come on.”
And away they went, for the storm had blown over, and to have looked at the lads no one could have imagined that the slightest disagreement had occurred to mar the harmony of their afternoon.
As they went down the garden Harry fetched a spade from the tool-shed; and when the little patch that he owned was reached, the boy, with something very like a tear in each eye, dug a hole, and laid his ferret in it, and had just filled it in when they were summoned to tea; but they did not go until the spade was put away, and they had shaken hands all round in the tool-house, and vowed friendship for evermore.