"But it wouldn't be true," I said.
"Wouldn't it?" he replied, with a queer look. "Well, I suppose it
wouldn't; but I'll tell him all the same."
"No," I cried, after a fight with a very cowardly feeling within me that
seemed to be pulling me towards the creep-hole of escape, "I shall tell
him myself."
Ike turned off sharply, and walked straight to where the broken pear
bough lay, jumped up and pulled down the place where it had snapped off,
opened his knife, and trimmed the ragged place off clean, and then went
back to his work.
"Now he's offended," I said to myself with a sigh; and I went on picking
apples in terribly low spirits.