“Yes, I do, but I don't dare say so.”
“I do,” said Josephus Peabody. “I ain't afraid of anything that ain't bigger and stronger than I am, honest, and I have killed one wolf my own self. That is true, but I didn't kill the others. I told that because that other girl was turning up her nose so at me. But I don't like to live here at all. I used to complain when I was Joe instead of Josephus, and had to learn lessons, and do errands. But this is worse than anything I ever dreamed about when I had the nightmare.”
“That is the way I feel,” said Letitia soberly. “I used to complain, but I wouldn't now. I've been living back of complaints too long.”
“So have I,” said Josephus. Then he added, “Say, I'm awful glad I got scared, and ran here, and found you.”
“So am I.”
“There's something I want to tell you that's very queer,” whispered Josephus. “There is a wooden book just like the one in Mr. Holbrook's house under the eaves in the lean-to, and I know where the key is. It is in the chest in the kitchen, in the till hidden under a lot of linen night-caps.”
“Has it a green ribbon on it?” whispered Letitia fearfully.
“Yes, it has. Say, don't you ever think you'd like to run away from here?”
“Yes, but I'm afraid I might get into something worse.”
“That's the way I feel. Otherwise we might both watch our chance and go through that wooden book in our lean-to, but we might find ourselves in Grandmother Peabody's garret where I came from, and we might find ourselves in a place full of worse wild animals than there are here, and things worse than Injuns. And we might have to learn more than we've learned here, and work harder, and I don't feel as if I could stand that.”