"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 w.i.l.l.y? He was a year and a half older, and had the charge of this expedition.

"Which way you mean to point, Billy?"

"Why, I thought we were going to sea. That's what you said; and I put a lot of nutcakes in my pocket to eat 'fore we got to the ship."

"You did? Well, give us some, then, for I'm about starved."

"So'm I, too."

And one would hardly have doubted it, to see them both eat. The doughnuts were sweet and spicy, and cheering to the spirits; the young travellers did not once stop to consider that they might need them more by and by. Children are not, as a general rule, very deeply concerned about the future. Birds of the air may have some idea where to-morrow's dinner is coming from; but these boys neither knew nor cared.

"First rate," remarked Fred, as the last doughnut disappeared. "But I don't know about going to sea. It's plaguy tough work climbing ropes, they say, and I heard of a boy that got whipped so hard he jumped overboard."

"Let's not go, then," cried w.i.l.l.y.

"Catch me!" said Fred. "I've been thinking of the lumb'ring business.

They make money fast as you can wink up there to the Forks."

"Let's go lumbering, then."

"Guess we will, Billy. You see the trees don't cost anything,--they grow wild,--and all you've got to do is to chop 'em down."

"Yes," said w.i.l.l.y, "and we need red shirts for that. I never chopped a tree's I know of. Could, though, if I had a sharp axe. Guess I could, I mean,--I mean if the tree wasn't _too_ big!"

"O, we shan't chop 'em ourselves," said Fred, spitting grandly. "Wasn't my father a lumberman once, and got rich by it? But did _he_ ever cut down a tree? What's the use? Hire men, you know."

"O!" exclaimed w.i.l.l.y. But a gleam of common sense striking him next moment, he added, "but the money; where'll we get that?"

"O, we'll get it after a while," replied Fred, vaguely. "My father was a poor boy once. Fact! I've heard him tell about it. Nothing but tow-cloth breeches, and wale-cloth jacket, off there to Groton. And he made b.u.t.ter tubs and potash tubs, sir. And he took his pay in beaver skins. And then he went afoot to Boston, and he rolled a barrel of lime round the Falls, sir. I've heard him tell it five million times. And my aunt Tempy, she rode a-horseback three hundred miles to Concord.--O, poh! there's lots of ways to make money, if you try. And once he took his pay in potash,--my father did; and he sold tobacco. O, there's ways enough to make money if you keep your eyes open; that's what my father says."

w.i.l.l.y's eyes were open enough, if that were all. At any rate, he was trying his very best to keep them open. Half of his mind was sleepy, and half of it very wide awake indeed. There was something so inspiring in Fred's confident tone. Rather misty his plans might be as yet; but hadn't w.i.l.l.y heard, ever since he could remember, that people were sure to succeed if they were only "up and doing?"

"Come, let's start," said he, rising eagerly, as the bell rang for nine.

"If we are going to the Forks we must go to Harlow first; I know that much."

And turning the corner at the left, the two wise little pilgrims set out upon their travels,--

"Strange countries for to see."

CHAPTER XI.

TO THE FORKS.

w.i.l.l.y started upon the run; but Fred, as soon as he could overtake him, and speak for puffing, exclaimed,--

"Now, Will Parlin, what's the use? We've got a good start, and let's take it fair and easy."

This was the most sensible remark Fred had made for the evening. Lazy and good-for-nothing as he was, he had spoken the truth for once. If they were ever to arrive at the Forks, they were likely to do it much sooner by walking than running. w.i.l.l.y did not understand this. Being as lithe as a young deer, he preferred "bounding over the plains" to lagging along with such a slow walker as Fred.

The town of Harlow was twelve miles away, and it was Fred's opinion that they should reach it in season for an early breakfast.

"I've got two dollars in my pocket," said he, "and I guess we shan't starve _this_ fall."

w.i.l.l.y thought of the eighteen cents he had been six weeks in saving, but was ashamed to speak of such a small sum.

"Well, we shan't get to Harlow, or any where else, till day after to-morrow afternoon, if you don't hurry up," said he, impatiently. "You say you can't run, but I should think you might do as much as to march.

Now, come,--left, foot out,--while I whistle."

Fred tried his best, but he was one of the few boys born with "no music in his soul," and he could not keep step.

"What's the matter with you, Fred Chase?"

"Don't know. Guess you haven't got the right tune."

w.i.l.l.y stopped short in "Come, Philander," and turned it into "Hail, Columbia;" but it made no difference. "Roy's Wife," or "Fy! let us a' to the wedding," was as good as anything else. Fred took long steps or short steps, just as it happened, and w.i.l.l.y never had understood, and could not understand now, what did ail Fred's feet; it was very tiresome, indeed.

"Look here: what tune have I been whistling now? See if you know?"

"Why, that's--that's--some kind of a dancing tune. Can't think. O, yes; 'Old Hundred.'"

"Fred Chase!" thundered w.i.l.l.y; "that's _'Yankee Doodle_!' Anybody that don't know Yankee Doodle _must_ be a fool!"

"Why, look here now: I know Yankee Doodle as well as you do, Will Parlin, only you didn't whistle it right!"

At another time w.i.l.l.y would have been quick to laugh at such an absurd remark; but now, tired as he was, it made him downright angry. He stopped whistling, and did not speak again for five minutes. Meanwhile he began to grow very sleepy.

"Wish we were going to battle," said Fred at last, for the sake of breaking the silence. "I'd like to be in a good fight; that is, if they had decent music. I could march to a fife and drum first rate."

"Could, hey! Then why didn't you ever do it?"

"Do you mean to say I don' know how to march? Know how as well as you do."

"Think's likely," snarled w.i.l.l.y, "for _I_ can't march if I have _you_ to march with. Can't keep step with anybody that ain't bright!"

"Nor I can't, either, Will Parlin; that's why I can't keep step with you."

"Well, then, go along to the other side of the road--will you? I won't have you here with your hippity-hop, hippity-hop."

"Go to the other side of the road your own self, and see how you like it," retorted Fred. "I won't have _you_ here, with your tramp, tramp, tramp."