While they were eating he told them many things about the birds which flew through the clearing. Evidently he knew the names and was familiar with the habits of all the feathered visitors, and as each passed, he counted it, adding ten to his number before the meal was at an end.
When the lads, thanking him for his hospitality, arose to resume their journey, he asked:
“Were you going up the river, my sons?”
“Yes,” they replied.
He seemed lost in thought during a dozen seconds or more, and then said:
“I like you, lads. You don’t make fun of the old man and his whims as some do, so I’ll carry you a piece up the river, though I’ve just come down stream. Get into the canoe; it will be a sight easier than tramping, and save you many a mile around the great swamp.”
Joe turned to Late, waiting for him to decide. Both knew of the swamp not far away, and understood that the old man was correct. It would be easier, and much time might be saved by paddling up the stream a few miles. They were two to one, and it was broad daylight. Surely there could be no risk in accepting Master Daggett’s invitation, therefore Late said:
“All right, sir; but let Joe and me take the paddles. We know how to handle them, an’ oughter be willin’ to do that much in return for your favor.”
The old man made no protest to this proposition, and during two hours or more the boys drove the light craft up the river until arriving at a considerable waterfall.
“We’ll have to land here,” the bird missionary said, “and carry the boat around.”