“Certainly,” said March, who was both surprised and annoyed by his speech, “certainly you have a perfect right to command me to hold my tongue; and, seein’ that you’ve bin so kind to me, Dick, I’m in duty bound to obey; but how can you ask me to put myself in such an awkward fix? You don’t suppose I can make my comrades believe I’ve bin livin’ on air or grass for some days past, an’ they’ll see, easy enough, that I’ve not bin in a condition to help myself. Besides, whatever your notions may be about truth, mine are of such a sort that they won’t let me tell a parcel o’ lies to please anybody.”
“Far be it from me, boy, to ask ye to tell lies. You can tell yer comrades that you’ve bin took care of by a trapper as lives in a cave among the mountains; but you don’t need to tell ’em where the cave is; an’ if they worry ye to guide ’em to it, ye can refuse. Moreover, jist speak o’ me in an offhand, careless sort o’ way, d’ye see? an’ be particular not to tell what I’m like, ’cause it might make ’em take a fancy to hunt me up.”
There appeared to be a dash of vanity in the latter part of this remark, which surprised March not a little; for it seemed to him quite inconsistent with the stout hunter’s wonted modesty of demeanour and speech.
“Well, I’m bound to think only o’ your wishes in this matter,” replied March in a disappointed tone, “an’ I’ll do my best to prevent my comrades interfering with ye, tho’, to say truth, I don’t think you need be so cautious, for they ain’t over-curious—none of ’em. But—” here March paused and glanced at Mary, who, he observed, had dropped her head very much during the conversation, and from whose eye at that moment a bright tear fell, like a diamond, on the work with which she was engaged.
“But—am I—the fact is, Dick, I feel a little sore that you should say ye had a likin’ for me, an’ then tell me I must be off, an’ never look near ye again.”
“That’s wot I never did say, boy,” returned Dick, smiling. “Ye may come alone to see me as often as ye like while ye remain in these parts. An’ if it please ye, yer at liberty to come an’ live wi’ me. There’s room in the mountains for both of us. The cave can hold three if need be.”
March Marston’s heart beat quick. He was on the eve of forming a great resolve! His bosom heaved, and his eye sparkled, as he was about to close hastily with this proposal, when, again, the memory of his mother crossed him, and a deep sigh burst from his lips as he shook his head, and said sorrowfully, “It can’t be done, Dick. I can’t forsake my mother.”
“No more ye should, lad, no more ye should,” said Dick, nodding approvingly; “but there’s nothin’ to prevent your spendin’ the winter and spring here, an’ returnin’ to yer mother next summer.”
“Done!” cried March, springing up as well as his bruised muscles would permit him, and seizing his friend enthusiastically by the hand. “I’ll stop with you and send home word by my comrades that I’ll be back in summer. That’s capital!”
Mary seemed to be quite of the same opinion, for she looked quickly up with a beaming smile.