"I can't."

"We're goin' fishin'--"

"Honest?"

"Sure. Uncle Ben's sick. But after dinner he's promised to take us. He's
not too sick to fish."

"I can't stay," the barefoot boy sighed.

"Come on. There's three bird's nests in the orchard. The second layin'.
It ain't no harm to break up the second nest. Birds've no business
layin' twice in one season. We _ought_ to break 'em up."

"I'm afraid I can't."

His tone grew weaker and Robbie pressed him.

"Come on. We'll get the bird's eggs and chase the calves and colts till
the dinner bell rings, ride the horses home from the fields, and go
fishin' after dinner and stay till dark."

"No--"

"Come on!"

John glanced up the road toward the big gate beyond which his mother was
waiting his return. The temptation was more than his boy's soul could