CHAPTER SEVEN.
I MAKE A FRIEND.
I began to understand and see and hear again an angry voice was saying: "You clumsy scoundrel! I believe you did it on purpose to injure the poor boy." "Not I," growled another voice.

"I aren't no spite agen him.

Now if it had been young Shock--" "Don't stand arguing," cried the first voice, which seemed to be coming from somewhere out of a mist.

"Run up the road and ask the doctor to come down directly." "All right, master! I'll go." "Poor lad! poor boy!" the other voice in the mist seemed to say.

"Nice beginning for him!--nice beginning! Tut--tut--tut!" It sounded very indistinct and dreamy.