The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey

“Sometimes it—hurts worse.”

      “Then it pains you all the time?” asked Chase, voicing a suspicion that had come to him from watching the boy.

      “Yes. But it ain’t bad today. Sometimes—hol’ on! I got a bite. See! It’s a whopper—Thunder! I missed him!”

      Mittie-Maru rebaited his hook and cast it into the stream. “Fishin’ fer mine, when I can’t git to the ball-grounds. Do you like fishin’, Chase?”

      “Love it. You must let me come out and fish with you.”

      “Sure. There’s good fishin’ fer catfish an’ suckers, an’ once in a while a bass. I never fished any before I came here, an’ I missed a lot. You see, movin’ ’round ain’t easy fer me. Gee! I can walk, but I mean playin’ ball or any games the kids play ain’t fer me. So I take mine out in fishin’. I’ve got so I like sittin’ in the sun with it all lonely aroun’, ’cept the birds an’ ripples. I used to be sore—about—about my back an’ things, but fishin’ has showed me I could be worse off. I can see an’ hear as well as anybody. There! I got bite again!”

      Mittie-Maru pulled out a sunfish that wriggled and shone like gold in the sunlight. “Thet’s enough fer today. I ain’t no fish-hog. Chase, if I show you where I live, you won’t squeal? Of course you won’t.”

      Chase assured him he would observe absolute secrecy; and together they mounted the bank and walked up stream. The meadows were bright with early June daisies and buttercups; the dew had not yet dried from the clover; blackbirds alighted in the willows and larks fluttered up from the grass. They came presently to an abandoned brickyard, where piles of broken brick lay scattered ’round, and two mound-like kilns stood amid the ruins of some frame structures.

      “Here we are,” said Mittie-Maru, marching up to one of the kilns and throwing open a rudely contrived door. A dark aperture revealed the entrance to this singular abode.

      “You don’t mean you live in this oven?” ejaculated Chase.

      “Sure. An’ I’ve lived in worse places. Come in, an’ make yourself to home.”

      Mittie-Maru crawled into the hole, and Chase followed him. It was roomy inside. Light came in from the chimney hole in the roof, and also on one side where there was a crack in the bricks. The floor was clean and of smooth sand. A pile of straw and some blankets made MittieMaru’s bed. A fireplace of bricks, a few cooking utensils, and a box cupboard told that he was his own housekeeper.

      “This’s not bad. How long have you lived in here?”

      “Aw, I fooled ’round town fer a while last summer, spendin’ my money fer swell lodgin’s, an’ then I found this place. Makes a hit with me.”

      “But when you’re sick, Mittie, what do you—how do you manage?”

      “Out of sight, an’ I ain’t no bother to no one.”

      And that was all Mittie-Maru would vouchsafe concerning himself. They came out after a while and Chase wanted to walk farther on up the river. Rolling meadows stretched away to the hills; there was a grove of maples not far off.

      “It’s so pretty up that way. Can’t we go farther on and strike another road into town?”

      “Sure. But them meadows an’ groves is private property,” said Mittie dubiously. “I used to fish up thet way, till I threw Miss Marjory down, then I quit. She lives in one of them grove houses. We ain’t likely to meet no one, though, so come on.”

      They crossed several fields to enter the grove. The river was narrow there and shaded by big trees. Violets peeped out of the grass. A white house gleamed in the distance.

      Suddenly they came ’round a huge spreading tree to a green embankment. A boat rode in the water, one end lightly touching the sand. And in the boat was a girl. Her eyes were closed; her head rested on her arm, which hung over the side. A mass of violets lay in her lap. All about the boat was deep shade, but a gleam of sunshine, filtering through the leaves, turned the girl’s hair to gold.

      Mittie-Maru uttered a suppressed exclamation and bolted behind some bushes. Chase took a step to follow suit, when the girl opened her eyes and saw him. She gave a little cry, which rooted Chase to the spot.

      Then because of the movement of the girl, the boat left the sand and drifted into the stream. Whereupon Mittie-Maru returned valiantly to the scene.

      “Miss Marjory! Don’t be scairt. It’s all right. We’ll get you pulled in. Where’s the oars? Chase, you’ll hev to wade out. The water ain’t deep. Come here, the boat’s goin’ close to this sandbar.”

      Chase became animated at Mittie’s words, and hurriedly slipping off his shoes and stockings, he jumped to the sand below and waded out. Deeper and deeper the water grew, till he was far over his knees. Still the boat was out of reach. He could tell by feeling with his foot that another step would plunge him over his head, and he was about to swim, when Mittie came to the rescue. He threw a long pole down to Chase.

      “There! Let her grab that, an’ pull her in.”

      Chase extended the pole, and as the girl caught it, he saw her eyes. They were dark blue and smiled into his.

      “Careful!” shouted the pilot above. “Don’t pull so hard, Chase, this ain’t no tug-o’-war. There! All right.”

      When Chase moored the boat, Miss Marjory gathered up the violets and lightly stepped ashore. Then an obvious constraint affected the three. She murmured a low, “Thank you,” and stood, picking the flowers; Chase bent over his shoes and stockings with a very flushed face, and Mittie-Maru labored with sudden and painful emotions.

      “Miss Marjory, it ’peared like we pushed the boat out, me an’ Chase, but thet ain’t so. We was walkin’ this way—he wanted to go in the grove—an’ all to once we spied you, an’ I ducked behind the bushes.”

      “Why? Are you afraid of me, Mittie-Maru?” she asked.

      “Yes—no—it ain’t thet, Miss Marjory. Well, no use lyin’. I’ve been keepin’ out of your way fer a long time now, ’cause I know you’d have me in Sunday school.”

      “Now you will come back, won’t you?”

      “I s’pose so,” he said with resignation, then looked at Chase. “Miss Marjory, this’s my friend Chase, Findlay’s new shortstop.”

      “I met the—new shortstop last week,” was the demure reply.

      “Miss Marjory, you didn’t sell Chase none of them gold bricks at the church sociable?”

      “No, Mittie, but I sold him five plates of ice-cream,” she answered with a merry laugh. “Your friend has forgotten me.”

      Mittie-Maru regarded Chase with a fine contempt. Chase was tongue-tied. Somewhere he had indeed seen those deep blue eyes; they were like the memory of a dream. “Miss—Miss—” stammered Chase.

      “Miss Dean, Marjory Dean.”

      “I met—so many girls—I didn’t really have time to get to know anybody well”

      Mittie-Maru watched them with bright, sharp eyes, and laughed when Chase broke into embarrassed speech again. “—finest time I ever had. I told Mittie about it, how they sold me a lot of old maid’s things. I sent some of them to my mother. And I asked Mittie if he could use a pincushion or two. I’ve been hunting Mittie all morning. Found him fishing down here. He’s got the cutest little den in a kiln at the old brickyard below. He lives there. It’s the cosiest place”

      Mittie had administered to Chase a series of violent kicks, the last of which had brought him to his senses.

      “Chase, you peached on me. You give me away, an’ you said you wouldn’t!”

      “Oh! Mittie, I’m sorry—I didn’t think,” cried Chase in contrition.

      “Is