What was Mr. Devering going to tell the boy I wondered. I kept close to the family during dinner the next day, and immediately afterward Dallas hurried to his uncle and the two went sauntering up the road, I, of course, in close attendance.
Mr. Devering seemed in no hurry to begin his communication. He strolled along looking at the lake and the sky and presently he said, "Those are fine Lombardy poplars in front of the Talkers."
"Yes, Uncle," said Dallas eagerly.
"Do you see that one with the queer curve in it?" asked Mr. Devering.
"Yes, I do."
"Someone struck it a cruel blow in youth," said Mr. Devering, "and it has given Mr. Talker more trouble than all the rest of the trees put together. 'Cut it down,' everybody said but me. 'Grapple with it,' I said, and he bandaged and propped and pulled until finally it had only that slight twist in it. He's quite proud of it and calls it his prodigal tree."
"Lots of things get hurt when they're young," said Dallas.
"Yes, boy, that's true."
"Bolshy is one, and I am another," said Dallas, going as easily along the mind path his uncle wished to lead him as his stout brown shoes went along the grassy path by the lake. "Uncle, can't you get the twist out of me? You're stronger than I am."