Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.
“What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!”
“Shame! Mas’ Don? I should just like to shame ’em. Head hurt much?”
“Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?”
“Rather pickly.”
“Rather what?”
“Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s’pose my wound’s first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit.”
“I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem.”
“Thank ye, Mas’ Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way.”
“We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink.”