“Oh, I say,” cried Vane, in a tone full of remorse, “what an old pepper-pot he is! I didn’t mean to upset him. He began it,—now, didn’t he?”
“Yes, of course,” said Gilmore. “Never mind. He’ll soon come round.”
“Oh, yes,” said Macey. “I shouldn’t take any notice. He’ll forget it all before night.”
“But it seems so queer,” said the lad, taking out and examining one of his mushrooms. “I just came out for a walk, and to pick some of these to have cooked for breakfast; and just as I’ve got a nice basketful, I come upon you fellows, and you begin to chaff and play larks, and the next moment I might have been knocking all the skin off my knuckles against Distin’s face, if I hadn’t backed out—like a coward,” he added, after a pause.
“Oh, never mind,” said the others.
“But I do mind,” cried the lad. “I want to be friends with everyone. I hate fighting and quarrelling, and yet I’m always getting into hot-water.”
“Better go and get your hands in now—with soap,” said Macey, staring at the soil-marks.
“Pooh! a rinse in the water-cress stream would take that off. Never mind Distin: come home, you two.”
“No, not this morning,” said Gilmore.
“I won’t ask you to taste the mushrooms: honour bright.”