"Why, JEFFRY," said ARCHIBALD, "what ails you? You're awfully down in
the mouth this morning."

"And so you'd be if you was in my boots," was the reply.

And then he up and told ARCHIBALD the whole story.

The latter was so thoroughly dumbfounded that a decently-smart boy could
have blown him over without any apparent effort.

"Why, JEFF," said he, "only to think of it. Ain't it awful? And ANN
BRUMMET, too; ain't I glad it ain't me, though."

"That's no way to console a fellow, you fool," said JEFFRY. "You'd
better offer to help me out of the scrape."

"Why, so I will, of course," said ARCHIBALD. "If I hadn't saved your
life, of course you wouldn't have got into it; and so I feel bound, you
know, to see you out of it. What shall I do?"

"Why, just go over to the Half-way House, and tell ANN I can't come.
Tell her I've got the small-pox, or broke my leg, or my old man's
dying--or anything, so that she understands I can't come."

"You'd better give me a letter," said ARCHIBALD, "and I'll slip it under
her door and run off. I never could remember all that, I should be so
flustered, you know."

"No," replied JEFFRY, "I shan't give you any letter. I ain't fool enough