The boy looked up at Christopher with sparkling eyes, in which
the eternal hero-worship of youth was already kindled.

"Oh, you're splendid!" he exclaimed, "and I'm going to be just
like you. Grandpa shan't keep me a baby any longer, I can tell
you. All this Greek, now--he's crazy about my learning it--and I
hate it. Do you know Greek?"

Christopher laughed shortly. "Where does he live?" he inquired
mockingly.

For a moment the boy looked at him perplexed. "It's a language,"
he replied gravely; "and grandpa says it comes handy in a
bargain, but I won't learn it. I hate school, anyway, and he
swears he's going to send me back in two weeks. I hope I'll fall
ill, and then he can't."

"In two weeks," repeated the other reflectively; "well, a good
deal may happen, I reckon, in two weeks."

"Oh, lots!" agreed the boy with enthusiasm; "you'll let me chase
rabbits with you every day--won't you? and teach me to shoot? and
we'll go 'possum hunting one night and not get home till morning.
It will be easy enough to fool grandpa. I'll take care of that,
and if Aunt Saidie finds it out she'll never tell him--she never
does tell on me. Here, let me take the gun awhile, will you?"

Christopher handed him the gun, and they went on rapidly along
the old road under the honey locusts that grew beyond the bend.
They were nearing the place where Christopher, as a child of