"They go off, with Jim never so much as looking my way, though they passed so clost to me that the lieutenant's heel scrunched my little finger. I had to take it without hollering or moving, for if I had they'd taken me along with Jim. And that's what tree climbing brings a man to."
"What became of Jim?" I asked.
"Oh, Jim, he was kept a prisoner all through the war, so he never got no enjoyment out of his life, never seeing a bit of real fighting—just marching and drilling and prison. So that, as he said, he might just as well never 'a' run away,—seeing he had to bide a non-combatant, which is the same as Quaker, after all."
"Then he didn't like it, did he?" I asked.
"No," Mr. Taylor said, laughing, "he didn't. And let this be a warning to you, young man. Don't you go up a tree for persimmons or cherries or other fruits whatsomever, agin the advice of your elders and betters."
"No, sir, Mr. Taylor," I said, "I never will."