"But it wouldn't be true," I said.

"Wouldn't it?" he replied, with a queer look. "Well, I suppose it

wouldn't; but I'll tell him all the same."

"No," I cried, after a fight with a very cowardly feeling within me that

seemed to be pulling me towards the creep-hole of escape, "I shall tell

him myself."

Ike turned off sharply, and walked straight to where the broken pear

bough lay, jumped up and pulled down the place where it had snapped off,

opened his knife, and trimmed the ragged place off clean, and then went

back to his work.

"Now he's offended," I said to myself with a sigh; and I went on picking

apples in terribly low spirits.




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