“Don’t talk about it, please.”
“No, zur, I won’t; but you’re hot and tired. You haven’t got your strength up yet, though you are a zight better. Wish I could do all the work for you. Here, I know.”
They were hoeing a couple of rows of corn, and Pete was some feet ahead of his companion, who looked at him wonderingly, as, after a quick glance round, he stepped across and back to where Nic was toiling.
“Quick,” he said, “you get on to my row and keep moving your hoe and resting till I ketch up.”
“But—” began Nic.
“Quick,” growled Pete fiercely; and he gave the lagger a sharp thrust with his elbow. “If they zee us talking and moving, old Zaunders’ll come across.”
That meant a fierce bullying, as Nic knew, and he hesitated no longer, but stepped into Pete’s row.
“I don’t like this; it is too full of deceit,” said Nic. “You will be blamed for not doing more work.”
“Nay; I shan’t,” replied Pete, “because I shall work harder. We’re a-going to do it this way; they won’t notice it, and if I keep pulling you up a bit level with me it’ll make your work easier.”
“But I have no right to let you.”