“Well, at last we got to a place where the rocks all stopped and some more began. An’ up on them was the loveliest ferns of all.”
“An’ I went up dat mountain fyst, I did,” said Toddie.
“Yes, Tod did, the blessed little sassy rascal,” said Budge, blowing a kiss to his brother. “I told him I didn’t believe that any ferns was nicer than any others, but he said, ‘Lord’ll make ’em so den, for Aunt Alish.’s An’ up he went, just like a spider.”
“Went up fyst,” said Toddie.
“’Course you did,” said Budge. “’Cause I didn’t go up at all. And Tod was pullin’ at a big fern with his back to me, an’ the first thing I knew there he was in the air layin’ down sideways on nothin’. Then he hollered.”
“’Cauzh I camed down bunk on whole lotch of little rocks,” explained Toddie. “But I didn’t lose the fyne—here tizh!” and Toddie held up a badly crushed and wilted ball of something that had once been a fern, seeing which Mrs. Burton placed Budge on the stone, hurried to Toddie, thrust the bruised fern into her bosom, and kissed its captor soundly.
“Hold me some more,” said Budge, “I don’t feel very good yet.”
“Then what did you do?” asked Mrs. Burton, resuming her position as nurse.
“Why, Tod went on hollerin’, an’ he couldn’t walk, so I helped him down to the road, an’ he couldn’t walk yet——”
Mrs. Burton had turned again to Toddie, and carefully examined his legs without finding any broken bones.