But this Hal did have the grace to contradict.
"Oh no, they are not," he said; "but they have kept on liking things that I don't care about, and they get huffy when I don't play with them. Of course," he added with an aggrieved air, "it is hardly likely that I should care to mix myself up very much with them now."
"I see," said Dodds; and though they could not see his face, Drusie and Jim were sure there must have been a twinkle of merriment in his eyes. "You have grown out of all their games, you mean, and are too old to play with them any more."
"Yes," said Hal eagerly; "that's just it. Now, you understand that all right at once, but I cannot get them to see it."
"It is wonderful how silly kids can be," said Dodds gravely. "But, look here; are you coming or are you not? For, if you are not, I shall ask one of the Harveys to spend the day with me."
That was enough for Hal. Throwing his scruples and his half-formed resolution to spend his birthday at home to the winds, he said at once that he would come.
"That's right," said Dodds in the half-patronizing tone he had used all along. "Be here directly after breakfast then, and you shall have first innings; that's a bargain."
"I won't forget," said Hal in a delighted tone. "I expect I shall be up here about nine o'clock."
It was a very melancholy little quartette that presently emerged from the bushes, and took its way home through the woods and the fields.
"I never should have believed it of Hal—never!" said Helen, quite forgetting that she had always warned the others of what they might expect. "To desert us on his birthday, and for a boy that does not care a bit about him, except to make use of him!"