The first time we met, to speak, he was sitting with his back against a
pollard willow, smoking a clay pipe. He smoked it very slowly, but very
conscientiously. After each whiff he removed the pipe from his mouth and
fanned away the smoke with his cap.
"Feeling bad?" I asked from behind a tree, at the same time making ready
for a run, big boys' answers to small boys' impertinences being usually
of the nature of things best avoided.
To my surprise and relief--for at second glance I perceived I had under-
estimated the length of his legs--he appeared to regard the question as a
natural and proper one, replying with unaffected candour, "Not yet."
My desire became to comfort him--a sentiment I think he understood and
was grateful for. Advancing into the open, I sat down over against him,
and watched him for a while in silence. Presently he said:--
"Have you ever tried drinking beer?"