“You are bigger than I am. I guess that is the reason.”
Abner was a rough boy, but he showed unusual gentleness and consideration for the little boy, whose weakness appealed to his better nature. He picked out a nice, shady place for Herbert to recline upon, and, taking off his coat, laid it down for a pillow on which his young companion might rest his head.
“There, bub; I reckon you'll feel better soon,” he said.
“I hope so, Abner. I wish I was as strong as you are.”
“So do I. I reckon I was born tough. I was brought up different from you.”
“I wish I were at home,” sighed Herbert. “Is it a long way from here?”
“I reckon it is, but I don't know,” answered Abner, whose geographical notions were decidedly hazy.
An hour passed, and still Herbert lay almost motionless, as if rest were a luxury, with his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the clouds that could be seen through the branches floating lazily above.
“Don't you feel any better, bub?” asked Abner.
“I feel better while I am lying here, Abner.”