“Well, it was a capital hit; every body says so. Your speaking was good, too; you’ve covered yourselves with glory, both of you,” said Mr. Walker.
The boys, somewhat abashed by praise from such a source, looked confused, and made no reply.
“By the way,” continued Mr. Walker, putting a hand on the shoulder of each of the boys, and drawing them aside from other groups that were near, “you mustn’t think anything of what I said the other day. I was a little excited, you know, and I suppose I said rather more than I ought to. I have been sorry for it ever since, and I don’t want you to think I meant it all.”
“We can see, now, that we did wrong,” said Whistler, perceiving that his cousin was at a loss what to say; “but, the fact is, we didn’t think much about it at the time. We didn’t mean any harm; that’s all the excuse we can give.”
“No, we didn’t mean any harm, and we both felt bad enough when we found how Dick cheated us,” added Clinton.
“Well, we won’t say anything more about that,” remarked Mr. Walker; “it can’t be helped, now, and I rather think we shall catch Dick, after all. If we do, he will have to sweat, that’s certain. He won’t get off with less than three or four years in the state’s prison.”
Mr. Walker passed along to other groups, but his few words to the boys had changed their feelings towards him very materially. Their resentment had melted away before his apology, and they felt relieved from a heavy burden of censure. Still, it must not be supposed that all traces of that outburst of passion were thus easily removed. No apology can sink so deep into the heart as an angry word or an unjust reproach. The scar remains after the wound is healed.
Another blast from the horn rang through the woods and summoned the people to the feast, which had been spread upon a long table under the trees, near the cabin. There was a bountiful supply of provisions, which had been contributed by the various families; and the company, standing around the tables, demolished the substantials and delicacies in a way that evinced the sharpness of their appetites and the excellence of the repast.
The dinner was followed by several speeches, stories, anecdotes and songs, and then the people dispersed, to amuse themselves in their own way. Clinton proposed a blueberry party; and his parents, Whistler, Annie, the Preston children, and several others, entered into the arrangement. A short walk through the woods, by a path well known to Clinton, brought them to several acres of cleared land, which was literally covered with blueberries, of a large size, and in full perfection. To the regret of all, they had no vessels to fill; but they picked as many as they could eat, and each broke off a few branches from the well-laden bushes, to carry back to the grove, as specimens of the generous yield of the blueberry pasture.
No hour was set for the breaking up of the picnic; but, as the sun dropped down towards the west, one load after another started for home, those who lived most distant being generally the first to leave. Mr. Davenport and his family withdrew at an early hour, as they not only had a long ride before them, but had many things to attend to after they got home. The tongues of the young folks ran glibly enough as they jogged along through the solitary roads, and all the scenes and enjoyments of the day passed in vivid review before them. The sixth and last mile of their homeward journey was half completed before they showed any signs of having “talked themselves out;” and then the conversation suddenly came to a stand, and they rode in silence for several minutes. Clinton, who had talked more than any of the others, seemed all at once absorbed in his own thoughts. He was thinking of the dialogue, and was about to ask his father something about it, when it occurred to him that he had already said full enough on that subject, and would perhaps be laughed at if he alluded to it again. After a few moments’ silence, however, he got the better of his modesty, and again broached the all but threadbare topic.