"'Ya-as, it be,' replied Davy, nodding his head. "'Why, Davy, it's ever so long since I clapped eyes on ye!' said the man. 'Where ha' ye been?' "'I 'aint been nowheres, as I knows on.' "'Well, if ye 'aint been nowheres, what have ye been doing? Flying your kite?' "Davy shook his head sorrowfully, and at the same time kept on grinning foolishly. "'I 'aint got no kite; so I can't fly it.' "'But you likes flyin' kites, don't ye?' said his friend, kindly. "'Ya-as,' answered Davy, nodding his head, and rubbing his hands, and laughing out. 'Kites is such fun! I wish I'd got un.' "Then he looked thoughtfully, almost moodily, at the man, and said: "'Where's _your_ kite? I likes kites. Kites is friends to me.' "But by this time the man had turned again to his work, and was busy driving a post into the ground; so he paid no attention to the lad's question." "Why, Mrs. Bloomfield," interrupted the colonel, "I should just like you to send out with a reconnoitring party, for you seem to see everything and forget nothing." "You see best and remember best what most interests you, colonel; and besides that, I got a good rebuke to my ingratitude from that poor fellow. So you see I had reason to remember him. I hope I don't tire you, Miss Cathcart." "Quite the contrary," answered our hostess. "By this time," resumed Mrs. Bloomfield, "another man had come up. He had a coarse, hard-featured face; and he tried, or pretended to try, to wheel his barrow, which was full of gravel, over Davy's toes. The said toes were sticking quite bare through great holes in an old pair of woman's boots. Then he began to tease him rather roughly. But Davy took all his banter with just the same complacency and mirth with which he had received the kindliness of the other man. "'How's yer sweetheart, Davy?' he said. "'Quite well, thank ye,' answered Davy. "'What's her name?' "'Ha! ha! ha! I won't tell ye that.' "'Come now, Davy, tell us her name.' "'Noa.' "'Don't be a fool.' "'I aint a fool. But I won't tell you her name.' "'I don't believe ye've got e'er a sweetheart. Come now.' "'I have though.' "'I don't believe ye.' "'I have though. I was at church with her last Sunday.' "Suddenly the man, looking hard at Davy, changed his tone to one of surprise, and exclaimed: "'Why, boy, ye've got whiskers! Ye hadn't them the last time I see'd ye. Why, ye _are_ set up now! When are ye going to begin to shave? Where's your razors?' "''Aint begun yet,' replied Davy. 'Shall shave some day, but I 'aint got too much yet.' "As he said this, he fondled away at his whiskers. They were few in number, but evidently of great value in his eyes. Then he began to stroke his chin, on which there was a little down visible--more like mould in its association with his curious face than anything of more healthy significance. After a few moments' pause, his tormentor began again: "'Well, I can't think where ye got them whiskers as ye're so fond of. Do ye know where ye got them?'