“Nor I,” cried Wilton angrily. “It wouldn’t be honest.”
“Well, I suppose not,” said the doctor sadly. “I’m afraid—no matter how little we obtained—I should feel as if I had swindled my brother-seeker for prosperity. There, I’ll join with you in what you say. But what a failure we have made!”
“No, no, not altogether,” said Ned’s father warmly. “We have found what we ought to think better than riches. Eh, Wilton?”
“Hah! Brother-grumbler, we have indeed,” said the other. “I never expected to be strong again.”
“And we are,” said Bourne. “Strong as horses, thanks to you, Lee.”
“No, no, no, I won’t take the undeserved credit, my dear fellows; thank the climate and the out-door life. The place is a regular Eden.”
“Only it won’t grow us food-stuffs to live upon.”
“Nor fruit to sell,” added Wilton. “There, we’ve talked it over for years, worked till we have been worn out, and hoped against hope. The plantations are the homes of plagues of every noxious insect under the western sun, so let’s give it up and go.”
“Agreed,” said the others, and the boys joined in with a hearty “Hurrah!”
“Then you won’t mind going, Ned?” said Mr Bourne.