“You won’t tell Pop?” she asked appealingly.
“No, I won’t tell him.”
She retraced her steps toward the main camp, bankrupt in that her suddenly acquired wealth was gone, but rich in the anticipated joy that her purchases would bring to her father and herself accurate eyesight and “book-larnin’.”
David wanted to laugh, but something deeper than laughter held him gazing out of the window, across the cabin roofs to where the moon was rocking in the haze of the tree-tops on the distant hills. Long after she had regained her bedroom and crept hurriedly beneath the blanket to fall asleep and dream of Beelzebubs wearing bright new “specs” and chasing little girls across endless stretches of moonlight, he was still gazing out of the window, thinking of his little friend and her trust.
CHAPTER VI—TRAMWORTH
David was awakened by the sound of chopping. He arose and dressed sleepily. After a brisk ablution at the river’s edge he came up the hill, where he found Avery making firewood.
“Mornin’. Skeeters bother you some?”
“Guess I was too sleepy to notice them,” replied David.
He watched the old man swing the axe, admiring his robust vigor. Then he stooped and gathered an armful of wood. As he lugged it to the kitchen, Avery muttered, “He’s a-goin’ to take holt. I have noticed folks as is a-goin’ to take holt don’t wait to ask how to commence.”
“Where’s Swickey?” said David, as he came for more wood.