"A solemn oath, mind?"
"Yes, yes, anything you like."
"And you will tell me yours?"
"Well—yes, if you like."
"Then say after me, "I swear by Almighty God—"
Richard repeated the words, though now he regretted the oath, but when Boney began, "And by the—" Richard stopped him. "You can't swear any more after that, you know." He felt uncomfortable.
"All right then," said Boney, a little dubiously; and stepping nearer and lowering his voice said, "Caspar David." The syllables pleased him as he uttered them and he repeated proudly, "Caspar David Alexander. But you're not to tell, and you're never to call me Cassy."
"I didn't promise that," began Richard, but seeing the alarm on Boney's face he added, "But I won't tell."
"Now tell me yours," said Boney, with a hint of contempt for anything he might hear.
Richard was suddenly dismayed. How could he do what no other boy would do—except of course Boney, who wasn't like the others? The oath seemed now a snare, but the keeping of it a crime; he couldn't tell. He ought not to have sworn—and who was Boney, anyhow, to make him swear and tell?
"You won't repeat it, Boney, mind," he cried warningly.
"Of course I won't."
Looking at the other's eyes Richard became utterly mistrustful. . . . It would be wrong to tell—but how to get out of telling? In a swift moment he had decided.
"John Thomas—John Thomas Clyne." He was conscious of staring firmly at the other while he spoke the virtuous lie. Why should he tell him?
"Pah!" cried Boney contemptuously. "That's not much of a name to make a fuss about."
"But you've sworn."
"Of course . . . I say, it's stupid here. Come on and I'll show you things." Standing up he yawned and led the way back to the house. As they returned by the same mossy path Richard was teased by a regret. He'd deceived Boney and didn't mind that very much; he'd deceive him again, come to that. But he wanted to
