“Well, I like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting,” said Frank, who had not yet learned to suit his amusements to his strength.

“My heart! what shall I do? I don’t know anything about them,” thought Beth; and, forgetting the boy’s misfortune in her flurry, she said, hoping to make him talk, “I never saw any hunting, but I suppose you know all about it.”

“I did once; but I can never hunt again, for I got hurt leaping a confounded five-barred gate; so there are no more horses and hounds for me,” said Frank, with a sigh that made Beth hate herself for her innocent blunder.

“Your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes,” she said, turning to the prairies for help, and feeling glad that she had read one of the boys’ books in which Jo delighted.