Jesse was clutching the little walking-stick tightly. He had almost forgotten about it. But he moved it from his right arm to his left, as he caught sight of the small white hand stretched out to clasp his own big brown one—though, after all, as hands go, the boy's were neither thick nor clumsy.
"I'm so glad you've come back, Jesse," said Ferdy in his clear, rather weak tones. "You didn't care for being away, did you? At least, not much?"
"No, Master Ferdy, 'twas terrible rough," said the boy. "I'm glad to be back again, though I'd be still gladder if Mr. Meare'd take me on reg'lar like."
"I hope he will soon," said Ferdy. "I daresay papa wouldn't mind saying something to him about it, if it would be any good. I'll ask him. But what's that you've got wrapped up so tight, Jesse?"
Jesse reddened.
"Then the young lady didn't tell you?" he said, half turning to Miss Lilly.
"Of course not," she replied. "Don't you remember, Jesse, I said you should give it to Master Ferdy yourself?"
Jesse fumbled away at the strips of newspaper he had wound round his stick, till Ferdy's eyes, watching with keen interest, caught sight of the ears and the eyes and then the snout of the grotesque but unmistakable pig's head—"old Jerry—the biggest porker at the farm."
"Oh, Jesse," cried Ferdy, his face radiant with delight, "how lovely!" and though the word was not quite exactly what one would have chosen, it sounded quite perfect to Jesse—it showed him that Master Ferdy "were right down pleased."
"'Tis only a bit o' nonsense," he murmured as he stuffed the stick into the little invalid's hands. "I thought it'd make you laugh, Master Ferdy. I took it off old Jerry—you know old Jerry—the fat old fellow as grunts so loud for his dinner."