“Ho, ho! You’ll hit me again, will you?” said Andrew triumphantly as the poor boy slowly retraced his way to the field.
As the bound boy walked wearily back to the field he felt that he had little to live for. Hard work—too hard for his slender strength— accompanied by poor fare and cruel treatment, constituted his only prospect. But there seemed no alternative. He must keep on working and suffering—so far he could foresee.
He worked an hour and then he began to feel faint. He had eaten but little breakfast and he needed a fresh supply of food to restore his strength. How he could hold out till evening he could not tell. Already his head began to ache and he felt weary and listless.
He was left to work alone, for Mr. Badger usually indulged himself in the luxury of an after-dinner nap, lasting till at least three o’clock.
As he was plodding along suddenly he heard his name called in a cheery voice:
“Hello, Bill!”
Looking up, he saw Dick Schmidt, the son of a neighbor, a good-natured boy, whom he looked upon as almost his only friend.
“Hello, Dick!” he responded.
“You’re looking pale. Bill,” said his friend. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t feel very well, Dick.”