“But think of the fun you’d have,” Squinty went on. “At the farm nothing ever happens.”
“There doesn’t, eh?” asked Don. “I suppose you call the bad, black bull breaking out of his pasture, and Bob and me driving him back—I suppose you call that nothing!”
“Oh, well, that, of course,” admitted Squinty.
“And then running after you—is that nothing?” Don wanted to know.
“Well, I wish that hadn’t happened,” Squinty said. “But I mean lots more happens if you run away than if you stay at home. Just think! Everything is the same every day when you’re on the farm. You get your meals just so often, and you always have to come when Bob calls you.”
“Yes, but I like that, for I love my little master Bob,” said Don. “And I like my three meals a day.”
“But if you ran away you could eat as often as you pleased,” said Squinty.
“Do you really think so?” asked Don, doubtfully.
“I’m sure of it,” Squinty said.
“Well,” spoke Don, “I never thought of that. Maybe there is something in this running away after all.”