Jack looked up, and saw beside him a rather short, square-built young man, with a face strongly marked by the small-pox,—a face which, however, in spite of its blemishes, was rendered interesting and attractive by a certain lively and good-humored expression. The little bag in his hand turned out to be a handkerchief tied up by the corners, from between which peeped the green tufts and delicate plumes of some fresh mosses and ferns.
A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.
“Not so very jolly,” replied Jack, perceiving at once that he had nothing to fear from a person who looked down upon him out of such pleasant and kindly eyes.
“You’d better stir your fire and burn up those cobs before old Mr. Canning comes this way,” said the stranger. “He’s a man who would have prosecuted the Master and his disciples for plucking corn in his field on the Sabbath day.”
“He can prosecute me, if he likes,” replied Jack, with a reckless laugh. “I’ve one crabbed old man after me already.”
“I thought so. Your clothes haven’t got quite dry yet, I see. Do you know, I have you to thank for a fine bath this morning?”
Jack stared. “How so?”
“I went into the pond after you.” And Percy Lanman—for it was he—proceeded to relate what had occurred at the culvert after Jack’s escape.
Jack was greatly entertained, especially by the story of Sellick and his companions carried up to the Basin by his old friend Pete, on the wheat-boat. Percy’s good-humor and sympathy had by this time quite won his confidence, and the fugitive told him in return the whole story of his misfortunes.