"Well, go and fetch them, then," exclaimed the gentleman, hastily. "I have set my mind upon having a couple of young vultures."
"And you shall have them, if Heaven preserves my feet from slipping and my hand from trembling," said the boy. "But I must first know what you are willing to give me for the birds."
"I have already told you that you shall have thirty francs if you bring them here alive."
Walter shook his head. "That is not enough, Sir," he replied. "I can't do it for that. I must have forty francs."
A smile almost of contempt passed over the lips of Mr. Seymour. "So young, and already so greedy!" said he. "Begone! I hate avarice, and will rather lose the birds than be cheated in such a way."
Walter blushed deeply. His feelings were so wounded by these words that his heart swelled as if it would burst, and his eyes filled with tears. But with a vigorous effort he controlled himself, and gave a quiet answer. "It is not greed or avarice that makes me ask for more money. You condemn me unjustly, Sir."
"What else, then, can it be?" inquired Mr. Seymour, angrily.
In a few simple words Walter described the harsh conduct of the neighbor who had taken away his father's cow for a debt of forty francs, and said that he had hoped the stranger would readily give the trifling sum of ten francs more if he only knew how dangerous it was to attempt the vulture's eyrie. While he spoke, the angry look gradually disappeared from the traveller's face, and he smiled with friendliness and goodwill upon the boy.
"And you will expose yourself to this danger to serve your father?" he inquired.
"Yes, Sir; I have made up my mind to do so."