Abner, who had been walking briskly, turned round to look at his young companion. Herbert was looking very pale, and had to drag one foot after the other. Day after day he had tried to keep up with Abner, but his strength was far inferior to that of the other boy, and he had finally broken down.

“You do look sick, bub,” said Abner, struck by Herbert's pallid² look. “Was I walking too fast for you?”

“I feel very weak,” said Herbert. “Would you mind stopping a little while? I should like to lie under a tree and rest.”

“All right, bub. There's a nice tree.” “Don't you feel tired, Abner?”

“No; I feel as strong as hearty³ as a horse.”

“You are bigger than I am. I guess that is the reason.”

Abner was a rough boy, but he showed unusual gentleness and consideration for the little boy, whose weakness appealed to his better nature. He picked out a nice, shady place for Herbert to recline upon, and, taking off his coat, laid it down for a pillow on which his young companion might rest his head.

“There, bub; I reckon you'll feel better soon,” he said.

“I hope so, Abner. I wish I was as strong as you are.”

“So do I. I reckon I was born tough. I was brought up different from you.”

“I wish I were at home,” sighed Herbert. “Is it a long way from here?”

“I reckon it is, but I don't know,” answered Abner, whose geographical⁴ notions were decidedly hazy⁵.

An hour passed, and still Herbert lay almost motionless, as if rest were a luxury, with his eyes fixed⁶ thoughtfully upon the clouds that could be seen through the branches floating lazily above.

“Don't you feel any better, bub?” asked Abner.

“I feel better while I am lying here, Abner.”

“Don't you feel strong enough to walk a little further?”

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