'Seed old Corney in town Saturday, 'n he said thur was enough to make it worth while balin' out. Bin balin' all the mornin'.'
Tom came over, and letting his tools down with a clatter he hitched up the knees of his moleskins and sat down on one heel.
'What are yer―why―doin' on the slate, Isley!' said he taking out an old clay pipe and lighting it.
'Sums,' said Isley.
Tom puffed away at his pipe a moment.
"Taint no use!' he said sitting down on the clay and drawing his knees up. 'Edication's a failyer.'
'Listen at 'im!' exclaimed the boy. ' D'yer mean ter say it ain't no use learnin' readin' and writin' and sums?'
'Isley!'
'Right, father.'
The boy went to the windlass and let the bucket down. Tom offered to help him wind up, but Isley, proud of showing his strength to his friend, insisted on winding by himself.
'You'll be―why―a strong man some day, Isley,' said Tom, landing the bucket.
'Oh, I could wind up a lot mor'n father puts in. Look how I greased the handles! It works like butter now,' and the boy sent the handles spinning round with a jerk to illustrate his meaning.
'Why did they call yer Isley for?' queried Tom, as they resumed their seats. 'It ain't yer real name, is it?'
'No, my name's Harry. A digger useter say I was a isle in the ocean to father 'n mother, 'n then I was nicknamed Isle, 'n then Isley'
