“Sailoring, maybe?”
“Not any. I seen all the salt water I want to.”
“Sick?” inquired Mr. Bartlett deeply interested.
“I like to throw up my toes.”
“You don't say!”
Here the boy awoke with a start. “Are we there yet, Pop?” he asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
The man's lips parted in a smile. “That's Benson ahead of us, son; we're almost there. Them's the church spires; and that round, dome-like thing's the court-house that you've heard me tell about.” There was not much of the town to see beyond the roofs of a few buildings which here and there showed among the trees, but the child was deeply impressed.
“Is that the place where you was a little boy, Pop?” he questioned in an awestruck tone. He was quite overcome by the sight of it; he stretched his tired limbs with a sense of freedom and physical relief.
It's a pretty gay looking town, ain't it? remarked Mr. Bartlett, with ponderous playfulness.
The child nestled closer to his father's side. “Is that the crick off yonder?” he asked.