He looked rich but he didn't.

Feuilly had seen a lot of rich people in the past few days. And obviously the boy was rich if he had been allowed to set foot on this estate, but still, something about him was- different. He had seen a lot of rich people, and rich people didn't sleep in their clothes, which this boy obviously had. And rich people also didn't get their shoes dirty, but this boy's black loafers were almost brown from the dirt covering them.

And most importantly, rich people did not offer to help with his work.

"I've got it, thanks," Feuilly said, turning back to the hedge he was trimming. The boy still just stood there, watching him. It was making Feuilly uncomfortable.

"Are you sure?" he said. "I'm taller than you, I can reach those branches."

"I should probably do this by myself," Feuilly said.

A soft thud behind him told him that the boy had sat down on the mucky ground in those nice clean slacks of his. He bit his lip. Don't ask, Feuilly, he told himself. This is a good place. You can stay here for a while. It'll be fine.

"Who are you?" he heard himself say, and he cursed himself for his curiosity.

"I'm Enjolras," the boy said. "I live here."

"Feuilly," Feuilly replied. "I guess I work here now."

Enjolras nodded. "You must be the caretaker's new foster kid."

"Yeah," Feuilly said quietly, stretching up to reach the top of the tree. It really was too tall for him.

"Do you ever think about injustice, Feuilly?" Enjolras said, lying back onto the ground. "I do, sometimes. And I think that there is some injustice going on right now, because you are denying me the opportunity to help you with your work, thereby denying me of an opportunity to A, gain experience, and B, do my daily good deed, based on some stupid class system."

Feuilly sighed and put down the clippers, looking at Enjolras. "You want to talk injustice, we can talk about the partition of Poland," he said. "Not me sitting back while I let my employer do all the work."

Enjolras sat up. "You know about the partition of Poland?"

"I did a school project on it. And then read a lot of books about it. And I'm saving up to visit there someday."

"How old are you?"

"Twelve."

"Me too."

Feuilly nodded, not sure what else to say.

"So what is it about the partition of Poland that strikes you as injustice?" Enjolras asked.

"Well," Feuilly said. At last, something he knew how to say. "First of all, it was just plain old wrong. Like when they split up siblings in foster families or something. Except it was more than just a family, it was a whole country."

"Exactly," Enjolras said. His eyes were lit with a bright fire. He smiled, and his smile was dangerous, and yet Feuilly didn't care. "Exactly," Enjolras said again. "Oh, Feuilly, I think you and I are going to get along splendidly."