“All right,” said William, impressed by the sound logic of the argument, “I don’t mind. I’m jus’ about sick of it. I’ve simply wore myself out with it an’ you’ve not been much help, I must say.”
“Well, I like that,” said Douglas, “an’ me nearly dyin’ of agony from blackberries.”
“An’ me riskin’ my life testin’ roots,” said Ginger. “I can still taste it—strong as ever. It seems to be gettin’ stronger ’stead of weaker. It’s a wonder I’m alive at all. Not many people’d suffer like what I’ve suffered an’ still go on livin’. If I wasn’t strong I’d be dead of it now.”
Douglas, stung by Ginger’s self-pity, again rose to the defence of his own martyrdom.
“A taste,” he said. “I could stand any amount of tastes. I——”
At this moment a diversion was caused by the return of Henry. Henry had been out to catch rabbits to cook over the fire for supper. He looked hot and cross.
“Couldn’t catch any,” he said shortly. “I saw a lot on the other side of the hill. I hid behind a tree till they came out an’ then I ran out after them, and I’m absolutely wore out with runnin’ out after them an’ I’ve not caught one.”
“Let’s go down to the river,” said Ginger, “I’m jus’ about sick of messin’ about here. There isn’t anything to do here, ’cept eat roots, an’ I’ve had enough of that.”
“No,” said William firmly, “we’ve gotter stay up here. If we go down an’ they start comin’ out to fetch us home they’ll overpower us easy. It’s a—a sort of vantage ground up here. We can see ’em comin’ up here an’ escape or throw things down on ’em.”
“Well, I’m sick of stayin’ up here,” said Ginger.