There were so many questions to be asked, that the boys made quick work of their breakfast and hurried away.

"There, glad we're out of that sc.r.a.pe," said Fred.

"But _didn't_ you lie? Why, Fred, how could you lie so?"

"H'm! Did it up handsome--didn't I, though? Wouldn't give a red cent for you. You haven't the least gumption about lying."

w.i.l.l.y shivered and drew away a little. His fine nature was shocked by Fred's coa.r.s.eness and lack of principle; still, this was the boy he had chosen for an intimate friend!

"If it hadn't been for me you'd have let the cat out of the bag,"

chuckled Fred. "You hung your head down as if you'd been stealing a sheep."

It was three miles farther to Harlow, and Fred grumbled all the way about his sore feet.

"See that yellow house through the trees?" said he. "That's my uncle Diah's; wish we could go there and rest."

"But what's the use to wish?" returned w.i.l.l.y. "Look here, Fred; isn't there a ford somewhere near here?"

To be sure there was. They had forgotten that; and sometimes the ford was not fordable, and it was necessary to go round-about in order to cross a ferry. While they were puzzling over this new dilemma, a stage-horn sounded.

"That's the Harlow driver; he knows us," cried Fred; "let's hide quick."

They concealed themselves behind some aspen trees on the bank, and "peeking" out, could see the stage-coach and its four sleek horses, about an eighth of a mile away, driving down the ferry-hill into the river.

"Good!" said w.i.l.l.y; "there's the ford, and now we know. And the water isn't up to the horses' knees; so _we_ can cross well enough."

"Yes, and get our breeches wet," groaned Fred.

"O, that's nothing. Lumbermen don't mind wet breeches," said w.i.l.l.y, cheerily.

"Lumbermen? Who said we were lumbermen? I shan't try it yet a while; my feet are too plaguy sore!"

"Shan't try what?"

"Well, nothing, I guess," yawned Fred; "lumber nor nothing else."

The stage had pa.s.sed, by this time, and they were walking towards the ford. When they reached it, w.i.l.l.y, nothing daunted, drew off his stockings and shoes, and began to roll up his pantaloons.

"Look here, Billy; if you see any fun in this business, _I_ don't!"

"Fun? O, but we don't spect that, you know," said heroic w.i.l.l.y, stepping into the stream.

"Cold as ice, I know by the way you cringe," said lazy Fred, who had not yet untied his shoes.

"Come on, Fred; who minds the cold?"

"Now wait a minute, Billy. I hadn't got through talking. I'm not going to kill myself for nothing; I want some fun out of it."

"Do come on and behave yourself," called back w.i.l.l.y; "when we get rich we'll have the fun."

"Well, go and get rich then," cried Fred; "I shan't stir another step!

My father's got money enough, and I needn't turn my hand over."

w.i.l.l.y stopped short.

"But you are going to the Forks with me?"

"Who said I was?"

"Why, you said so, yourself. You were the one that put it in my head."

"O, that was only talk. I didn't mean anything."

w.i.l.l.y turned square round in the water, and glared at Fred, with eyes that seemed to shoot sparks of fire.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DESERTED.--Page 195.]

"Yes--well, yes, I did kind of mean to, too," cried Fred, shrinking under the gaze; "but I've got awful sick of it."

"Who called me a SNEAK?" exclaimed w.i.l.l.y, his voice shaking with wrath.

"Who called me my mamma's cry-baby? Who said he spected I'd back out?"

"But you see, Billy, my feet!"

w.i.l.l.y, whose own feet were nearly freezing, replied by a sniff of contempt. He planted himself on a rock in the middle of the river, and awaited the rest of Fred's speech.

"You know I've got folks living this side, back there a piece--my uncle Diah. That's where I'll go. They'll let me make a visit, and carry me home: they did it last spring."

"And what about _me_, Fred Chase?"

"You? Why, you may go where you're a mind to."

"What? Me, that you coaxed so to come?"

Fred quailed before the look and the tone.

"Well, I'd take you to uncle Diah's, w.i.l.l.y, only--well--I can't very well, that's all."

w.i.l.l.y suddenly turned his back, and cleared the stream with one bound.

CHAPTER XII.

"I HA'E NAEBODY NOW."

Standing on the bank, w.i.l.l.y looked back over his shoulder at Fred, and saw him dart off into a shady cow-path. No doubt he was going to his uncle Diah's. When he was fairly out of sight, and w.i.l.l.y comprehended at last that he had really left him, and did not mean to come back, he sat down on a stone by the wayside, and began to rave.