“I wanted to see you about Walter.”
“Walter, my nephew?”
“Yes.”
“Hope he has done nothing out of the way. His folks would feel dreadful bad.”
“Oh, no—no! jest the opposite. Fact is, I want him at the station.”
Boardman looked up, and wiped his broad, benevolent face.
“You don’t say! I thought Walter couldn’t have been up to anything out of the way, for he is as well meanin’ a boy as you often see. And you want him at the station? Indeed!”
“You see, Squire”—a title the people gave Boardman when they wished to be specially attentive, and it was always acceptable to Boardman—“you see, Silas Fay, one of my men, is not very well; but I want to hold on to him as he is a powerful feller, and a good boatman. I thought if Silas took a rest, a month say, he would be able to come back and pull through the winter. I thought for that month, I might get your Walter.”
“Is he strong enough?”
“He has a good deal of strength for one of his years, and every day he will be a–gainin’. Jest look at him! I have watched him a good deal. He is a good oarsman too. They say he pulled fustrate at the race. Then I thought he might like the money, and also that you might spare him, as work at the saw–mill is slack, and I knew you didn’t have to be there so much, and could be more at the store. Then that colored boy is with you, isn’t he?”