“The sentiment is very fine, no doubt,” said Bob Howard. “But if that dear little home of yours was covered with snow, so that you couldn’t stir out of it for months; and your firewood gave out, and the wolves came and serenaded you every day and glared down at you through the chimney; and your provisions run short, and you saw starvation staring you in the face! I tell you what’s a fact, Dick; I know something about that. There has been a good deal of nonsense written about life in the woods. You could not stand it three months.”
“I’d like to try,” said Dick.
“I’ll change places with you,” said George. “I’ll give you my house, if you will give me your seat at the academy.”
“Would you like to go there?”
“Indeed I would.”
“Then, why don’t you go?”
George was so surprised at this question, that he did not reply to it.
Why didn’t he go? Where were his guest’s eyes and ears? Would he, or any other boy, who was in full possession of his senses, be likely to make a hermit of himself from choice?
Of course, he could not tell them that he had no money to pay for four years’ tuition at the academy, and so he held his peace; but his silence told his new friends all they wanted to know, and they then and there made up their minds to act accordingly.
After the two boys had warmed themselves and dried their clothing, Dick proceeded to overhaul his gun, and Bob assisted George in laying the table and preparing supper.