“Am I too heavy, Jem?”
“Heavy? No, sir; I could carry two on you. Stand fast; ’tarn’t far. Stand fast. That’s your sort. Stand—oh!”
Everything depended upon him, and poor Jem did his best; but after three or four steps Don felt that he was going, and to save himself from a fall he tried to jump lightly down.
This would have been easy enough had not Jem been so earnest. He, too, felt that it was all wrong, and to save his companion, he tightened his hold of the calves of Don’s legs as the lad stood erect on his shoulders.
The consequence was that he gave Don sufficient check as he leaped to throw him off his balance; and in his effort to save him, Jem lost his own, and both came down with a crash and sat up and rubbed and looked at each other.
“Arn’t hurt, are you, Mas’ Don?”
“Not hurt?” grumbled Don. “I am hurt horribly.”
“I’m very sorry, sir; so am I. But I arn’t broke nowhere! Are you?”
“Broken? No!” said Don rising. “There, let’s try again.”
“To be sure, sir. Come, I like that.”