Mandy, however, with
the directness of her simple nature, had no compunction in frankly
maintaining her preference for a walk with Tim and Cameron through the
woods; indeed, more than once she allowed Perkins to drive off with his
fiery colt, alone in his glory.
But this Sabbath morning, as Cameron lay under the orchard trees, he was
firmly resolved that he would give the whole day to the nursing of the
ache in his head and the painful languor in his body. And so lying he
allowed his mind to wander uncontrolled over the happenings of the past
months, troubled by a lazy consciousness of a sore spot somewhere in his
life. Gradually there grew into clearness the realisation of the cause
of this sore spot.
"What is the matter with Perkins?" he asked of Tim, who had declined
to go to church, and who had strolled into the orchard to be near his
friend.
"What is the matter with Perkins?" Cameron asked a second time, for Tim
was apparently too much engaged with a late harvest apple to answer.
"How?" said the boy at length.
"He is so infernally grumpy with me."
"Grumpy? He's sore, I guess."
"Sore?"
"You bet! Ever since I beat him in the turnips that day."
"Ever since YOU beat him?" asked Cameron in amazement. "Why should he be
sore against me?"
"He knows it was you done it," said Tim.
Pages:
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309