“I will come,” said Hans, whose face beamed with good-humour.
“Good; I shall expect you. Farewell.”
“Farvel,” replied Hans.
Fred sauntered down the hill that morning with a very peculiar smile on his countenance. There was something quite sly about his aspect, and more than once his companions caught him chuckling at breakfast in a way that surprised them much, for Fred Temple was not given to secrets, or to act in an outrageous manner without any apparent reason. But Fred had his own peculiar thoughts that morning, and they tickled him to such an extent that more than once he burst into a fit of laughter.
“Come, Fred, you’re meditating something. Out with it,” said Grant. “It is selfish to keep all your good thoughts to yourself.”
“Not yet, not yet,” replied Fred, with a mysterious look. “You shall know before our excursion comes to an end.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Hans Ericsson, who was impatient to get employment of any kind in order to earn a few dollars, and lay them up with a view to the future. Fred took him aside, and said in a low tone—“Hans, are you very anxious to wed Raneilda?”
The young Norseman’s face flushed, and he started as if he had received a blow.
“Don’t be angry, Hans,” continued Fred; “I ask the question because I think I can help you in the matter if you will allow me. I do not ask it out of idle curiosity. Come, tell me your troubles like a good fellow, and I’ll put you in the way of getting out of them.”
Hans was inclined to repel Fred’s kind intentions at first, but the Englishman’s open, honest manner won upon him so much that he related to him all his sorrows.