"I always
said that place wasn't safe, but I went on it myself. That's the way in
life. We do what we forbid ourselves to do; we suffer the shames we damn
in others--but yes."
There was a pause, then he added: "That's what you'll do in your life,
M'sieu' Carnac. That's what you'll do."
"Always?"
"Well, you never can tell--but no."
"But you always can tell," remarked the boy. "The thing is, do what you
feel you've got to do, and never mind what happens."
"I wish I could walk," remarked the little man, "but this leg of mine is
broke--ah, bah, it is!"
"Yes, you mustn't try to walk. Be still," answered the boy. "They'll be
here soon." Slowly and carefully he took off the boot and sock from the
broken leg, and, with his penknife, opened the seam of the corduroy
trouser. "I believe I could set that leg myself," he added.
"I think you could--bagosh," answered Denzil heavily. "They'll bring a
rope to haul me up?"
"Junia has a lot of sense, she won't forget anything."
"And if your father's there, he'll not forget anything," remarked Denzil.
"He'll forget to make me wear these boots tomorrow," said the boy
stubbornly, his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed gloomily on the
brass-headed toes.
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