"Poh! what do you know about it, Fred? Your father's rich, and don't keep a pig!"
"What if he don't? What hurt does a pig do?"
"Why, you have to carry out swill to 'em. Then there's the wood-box, and there's the corn to husk, and the cows to bring up! It makes a fellow ache all over."
"No worse'n errands, Bill! Guess you never came any nearer blistering your feet than I did last summer, time we had so much company. Mother's a case for thinking up errands."
"Well, Fred, we've started to run away."
"Should think it's likely we had."
"I'm going 'cause I can't stand it to be whipped any more; but you don't get whipped, Fred. What are you going for?"
"Why, to seek my fortune," replied Fred, spitting, in a manly fashion, into a clump of smartweed. "Always meant to, you know, soon's I got so I could take care of myself; and now I can cipher as far as substraction, what more does a fellow want?"
"Don't believe you can spell 'phthisic,' though."
As this remark had nothing to do with the case in point, Fred took no notice of it. What if he couldn't spell as well as Willy? He was a year and a half older, and had the charge of this expedition.