“Why, I thought you liked walking. I heard you saying so last week.”
“I liked it last week; but I couldn’t have it then. People can’t always like the same things. I thought you liked cricket.”
“Oh, so I do! I should think I did just!” said Arthur emphatically; and he could not help thinking of how much more he liked it, than talking to such a disagreeable companion as Edgar was now. It needed another remembrance of the voice in his heart.
“Well, why don’t you play then? the others are playing.”
“Why, I thought you might like to go for a walk.”
Edgar pulled bits of bark off the tree, and threw them on the ground. Then he looked up in Arthur’s face with a half laugh. “Well, you are queer. Perhaps I should like a walk. Where shall we go?” he said, rising suddenly.
“I don’t mind,” Arthur said, “except that dusty old road.”
“The woods then,” said Edgar, “and then we should be less likely to meet that Carey. I hate having to speak to him.”
They walked on for some distance, without saying very much. Arthur found conversation with his companion rather difficult to keep up; most of his questions were answered by “yes” or “no;” and to anything that he said, not requiring an answer, Edgar gave a short laugh.
“There’ll be lots of wild strawberries here soon,” he said; “don’t you like them?”