No, you're not sick, so to speak!" There was another silence, Ambrose squirming a little and blushing under Peter's calm, speculative gaze.
"Have you anything against me ?" Peter finally inquired.

"If you have, out with it!" The young man shook his head unhappily.
"Forget it then!" cried Peter with a scornful, kindly grin.

"You ornery worthless Slavi, you! You Shushwap! You Siwash! Change your face or you'll give the dog distemper!" Ambrose laughed sheepishly and stole a glance at his partner.

There was pain in his bold eyes, and the wish to bare it to his friend as to a surgeon; but he dreaded Peter's laughter.
There was another long silence.

The atmosphere was now much clearer.
Peter, having come to a conclusion, removed his pipe and spoke again: "I know what's the matter with you." "What ?" muttered Ambrose.
"You've got the June fever." Ambrose made no comment.
"I mind it when I was your age," Peter continued; "when the ice goes out of the lake and the poplar-trees hang out their little earrings, that's when a man catches it--when Molly Cottontail puts on her brown jacket and Skinny Weasel a yellow one.