“Just about the same as your father did; only he didn’t bring in about the fever, nor he didn’t say anything about my being brought home in bits. Said that I was a great nuisance, and he wondered how it was that I could not amuse myself like other boys did.”
“So we do,” said Joe, sharply. “I never knew of a boy yet who didn’t get into a scrape sometimes.”
Gwyn grunted, and frowned more deeply.
“Said it was disgraceful for me to run risks, and cause my mother no end of anxiety, and—”
“Well, go on: what a time you are!” cried Joe, for Gwyn suddenly paused. “What else did he say?”
“Oh, something you wouldn’t like to hear.”
“Yes, I should. Tell me what it was.”
Gwyn took out his knife, and began to pick with the point at a large crystal of pinkish felspar, which stood partly out of the huge block of granite.
“I say, go on. What an aggravating chap you are!”
Gwyn went on picking.