“And that’s enough, I think,” said John; for the lad’s limbs were trembling under him. “Really, these lads are very inconsiderate. You should not have let them lead you such a chase.”
“It was me that led them,” said Archie,—not exactly liking Master John’s tone. “And I’ll soon be rested again.”
But the horse’s head was already turned, and John’s strong arm lifted the weary boy to the seat at his side, and he was soon safely set down at the cottage-door. But it was some time before Archie appeared among the boys again, so long that John, after taking his brother Davie severely to task for his thoughtlessness, one fine morning walked over the hills to see if Archie were really ill.
“Ill? No! What should make me ill?” But Archie looked pale and weary, in spite of his denial. He was upon the turf seat at the end of the house; and, sitting down beside him, John took up the book he had been reading. It was a volume of Flavel.
“Have you read much of this?” John asked, wondering at his taste. “Do you like it?”
“I haven’t read much of it to-day; but Lilias and I read it last winter to my aunt, and I liked it well, not so well to read to myself, though, as some others.”
“What others?” asked John.
“Oh, the History of Scotland, and the Tales of the Covenanters, and some books of poetry that my aunt has got. But I like Flavel too. Don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” replied John, smiling, and a little confused. “To tell the truth, I have not read much of him. Tell me what you think of him. Of this, for instance.”
And he read the quaint heading of a chapter in the book he held in his hand.