"Worlds? A likely story, Bill Parlin! Mother has said so lots of times, but you don't stuff such a story down _my_ throat." "Don't believe your mother!" exclaimed Willy, astonished. "Why, I always believe my mother. She never made a mistake in her life." Fred laughed. "She don't know any more'n anybody else, you ninny! only you think so because she makes such a baby of you." Willy reddened with sudden shame, but retorted sharply,-- "Stop that! You shan't say a word against my mother." "But you let me talk about your father, though. What's the difference?" "Lots. You may talk about father as much as you've a mind to," said Willy, scowling; "for he no business to whip me so. He thinks boys are pretty near fools." "That's just what my father thinks," returned Fred. Whereupon the two boys were friends again, having got back to their one point of agreement. "If I had a boy I wouldn't treat him so,--now I tell you," said Willy, clinching his little fists. "I'd let him have a good time when he's young." "So'd I!" "For when he's old he won't want to have a good time." "That's so." "And I wouldn't be stingy to him; I'd let him have all the money he could spend." "So'd I," responded the ungrateful Fred, who had probably had more dollars given him to throw away than any other boy in the county. "I'd treat a boy real well. I wouldn't make him work as tight as he could put in," pursued Willy, overcome with dreadful recollections. "Nor I, neither! Guess I wouldn't!" "Poh! what do you know about it, Fred? Your father's rich, and don't keep a pig!" "What if he don't? What hurt does a pig do?" "Why, you have to carry out swill to 'em. Then there's the wood-box, and there's the corn to husk, and the cows to bring up! It makes a fellow ache all over." "No worse'n errands, Bill! Guess you never came any nearer blistering your feet than I did last summer, time we had so much company. Mother's a case for thinking up errands." "Well, Fred, we've started to run away." "Should think it's likely we had." "I'm going 'cause I can't stand it to be whipped any more; but you don't get whipped, Fred. What are _you_ going for?" "Why, to seek my fortune," replied Fred, spitting, in a manly fashion, into a clump of smartweed. "Always meant to, you know, soon's I got so I could take care of myself; and now I can cipher as far as _substraction_, what more does a fellow want?" "Don't believe you can spell 'phthisic,' though." As this remark had nothing to do with the case in point, Fred took no notice of it. What if he couldn't spell as well as Willy? He was a year and a half older, and had the charge of this expedition. "Which way you mean to point, Billy?" "Why, I thought we were going to sea. That's what you said; and I put a lot of nutcakes in my pocket to eat 'fore we got to the ship." "You did? Well, give us some, then, for I'm about starved." "So'm I, too."