“Oh, Will!”
“Yes, it is! You ask Brother Bundock—I don’t mean old Mr. Bundock. I asked him once who wrote our hymn-book and he said, ‘’Twixt you and I, the village idiot!’ ”
“You are talking wickedly, Will”—there were tears in the voice now. “You mustn’t run away, that’s more wicked.”
“Oh—I was an idiot myself to tell you. You are going to peach on me, I suppose.”
“Peach?”
“Tell your grandfather about my running away.”
“Not if you don’t do it.”
“But I shall do it! And you promised to keep the secret. To tell would be more wicked than me.”
“I won’t tell, but you mustn’t go.”
“I must. Swear not to betray me. Kiss my hymn-book.”