104 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



&quot;I hope so. Whatever I called him, he s it. 

 Come over.&quot; 



He led me to the orchard edge, and there 

 in the half light I saw a line of stubs and a 

 pile of brush. 



&quot;Not your quince bushes!&quot; I gasped. 



&quot;Just that,&quot; he said, grimly, and then 

 burst into further unprintable phrases descrip 

 tive of the city-bred loafer. &quot;If I ever give 

 work to a hobo again, I ll be &quot; 



&quot;Sh-h-h,&quot; I said; and I could not forbear 

 adding, &quot;Now you know how I have felt 

 about those huckleberry bushes and birches 

 and things, only I had n t the language to 

 express it.&quot; 



&quot;You have language enough,&quot; said Jona 

 than. 



Undoubtedly Jonathan was depressed. I 

 had been depressed for some time on account 

 of the grooming of my berry patches and 

 fence lines, but now I found myself growing 

 suddenly cheerful. I do not habitually batten 

 on the sorrow of others, but this was a special 

 case. For how could I be blind to the fact 

 that chance had thrust a weapon into my 

 hand? I knew that hereafter, at critical mo- 



