At The Sand-Pit

"Better? Yes, of course. Boys always get better," he said. "Look
here. Behaved very well yesterday. Go on. I've said a word to
Brownsmith about you; but, look here: don't you tease my lads. Boys
will be boys, I know; but they are not in your station of life, and you
must not try to make companions of them."

I made no answer: I could not, I was so taken aback by his words; and by
the time I had thought of saying that I had never teased either
Courtenay or Philip, and that I had always tried to avoid them, he was a
hundred yards away.

"They must have been telling lies about me," I said angrily; and I
walked on to where Ike was digging, to talk to him about it and ask his
advice as to whether I should go and tell Sir Francis everything.

"No," he said, stopping to scrape his spade when I had done. "I
shouldn't. It's kicks, that's what it is, and we all gets kicked more
or less through life, my boy; but what of it? He wouldn't think no
better of you for going and telling tales. Let him find it out. Sure
to, some day. Feel badly?"

"Yes," I said, rather faintly.

"Ah! sure to," said Ike, driving his spade into the ground. "But you
don't want no doctor. You swallowed a lot of bad air; now you swallow a
lot of good, and it'll be like lime on a bit o' newly dug ground. Load
or two would do this good. There's the ganger hollering after you."