"Now wait a minute, Billy. I hadn't got through talking. I'm not going to kill myself for nothing; I want some fun out of it." "Do come on and behave yourself," called back Willy; "when we get rich we'll have the fun." "Well, go and get rich then," cried Fred; "I shan't stir another step! My father's got money enough, and I needn't turn my hand over." Willy stopped short. "But you are going to the Forks with me?" "Who said I was?" "Why, you said so, yourself. You were the one that put it in my head." "O, that was only talk. I didn't mean anything." Willy turned square round in the water, and glared at Fred, with eyes that seemed to shoot sparks of fire. [Illustration: DESERTED.--Page 195.] "Yes--well, yes, I did kind of mean to, too," cried Fred, shrinking under the gaze; "but I've got awful sick of it." "Who called me a SNEAK?" exclaimed Willy, his voice shaking with wrath. "Who called me my mamma's cry-baby? Who said he spected I'd back out?" "But you see, Billy, my feet!" Willy, whose own feet were nearly freezing, replied by a sniff of contempt. He planted himself on a rock in the middle of the river, and awaited the rest of Fred's speech. "You know I've got folks living this side, back there a piece--my uncle Diah. That's where I'll go. They'll let me make a visit, and carry me home: they did it last spring." "And what about _me_, Fred Chase?" "You? Why, you may go where you're a mind to." "What? Me, that you coaxed so to come?" Fred quailed before the look and the tone. "Well, I'd take you to uncle Diah's, Willy, only--well--I can't very well, that's all." Willy suddenly turned his back, and cleared the stream with one bound. CHAPTER XII. "I HA'E NAEBODY NOW." Standing on the bank, Willy looked back over his shoulder at Fred, and saw him dart off into a shady cow-path. No doubt he was going to his uncle Diah's. When he was fairly out of sight, and Willy comprehended at last that he had really left him, and did not mean to come back, he sat down on a stone by the wayside, and began to rave. "The tormentable, mean, naughty boy! I'd be ashamed to treat a _skeeter_ the way he's treated me! Did I ever coax a boy to go anywhere with me, and then run off and leave him right in the middle of the river? No, _sir_. Sore feet, hey? Didn't anybody ever have sore feet 'fore now, I wonder? Why, I had chilblains last winter so deep they dug a hole into my heels, and,--well, it's no use to make a great fuss,--I didn't cry but two or three times. Blisters! what's that? Nothing but little puffs of water! Perhaps that wasn't why he stopped, though. Just as likely as not he meant all the time to stop, and come a-purpose to see Mr. Diah. How can you tell? A boy that lies so! There, there, come to think of it, shouldn't wonder if his feet weren't sore a bit! Wish I'd looked at 'em!