“Yes, let them. Don’t take any notice. Try and amuse yourself. Be a boy again, or a man if you like, and do as Charles the Second used to do: go and feed the ducks. Well, what’s the matter? there’s no harm in feeding ducks, is there?”
“Oh no,” said the boy confusedly; “I’ll go;” and he hurried out.
Chapter Thirty Eight.
Feeding the Ducks again.
“Go and feed the ducks,” said Frank to himself, as he obtained some biscuits, and, in his readiness to obey his elder’s wishes, went slowly toward the water-side; “how little he knows what a deal that means;” and, almost unconsciously, he strolled on down to the side of the canal, thinking of Mr George Selby and Drew, and of the various incidents connected with his walks out there, which, with the duel, seemed in his disturbed state of mind to have taken place years—instead of months—ago, when he was a boy.
He went slowly on, forgetting all about the biscuits, till he noticed that several of the water-fowl were swimming along, a few feet from the bank, and watching him with inquiring eyes.
He stopped short, turned to face the water, which was sparkling brightly in the sunshine, and taking a biscuit out of his capacious “salt-box pocket,” he began to break it in little bits and throw them to the birds.
“Ah, what a deal has happened since we were here doing this that day,” thought the boy; and his mind went back to his first meeting with Drew’s father, the invitation to the dinner, and the scene that evening in the tavern.