"Oh, Mammy, I am so glad!" cried Jack Ferrers; and without more ado he kissed Mrs. Merryweather. "I like burnt porridge!" said this young gentleman.
CHAPTER XV.
CONCERNING VARIOUS THINGS
"Where are you going, Margaret?" asked Willy.
"Up to the farm. Bell lost one of her knitting-needles, and thought she might have dropped it there; she is up there now, hunting for it, and here it was in my tent all the time. Would you like to come with me, Willy?"
Willy twinkled with pleasure, and fell into step beside her, and the two walked along the pleasant grassy road through the fields, talking busily. They had become great friends, and Willy was never tired of hearing about Basil, who, he declared, "must certainly be a corker."
"I suppose he is, Willy," said Margaret, with resignation. "There seems nothing else for any nice person to be. Did I tell you how brave he was when a great savage dog attacked our poor puppies? Oh, you must hear that."
The recital of Basil's heroism lasted till they reached the farmhouse, both in a state of high enthusiasm, and Willy filled with ardent longings for attacks by savage dogs, that he might show qualities equal to those of the youthful hero. (N. B. Basil, honest, freckled, and practical, would have been much surprised to hear himself held up as a youthful embodiment of Bayard and the Cid in one.)
"I'll wait for you out here, Margaret," he said, when they came to the door. "No, I don't want to come in; they will tell me how I've grown, and I do get so tired of it. I'll sit on the fence and think; I like to think."