They sat down on a grassy bank, and ate the food Bart had purchased. Mr. Hardman seemed to be thinking of many things, for he hardly spoke during the impromptu meal, and, when he had eaten a couple of sandwiches he arose from the bank and wandered off a little way into the woods. When he came back he addressed Bart:
"Are you sure no one—er—say a sick person—could get from the other side of the forest to this road?"
"Well of course it's possible," admitted Bart, "but I don't believe a sick person, or a well one, either, could get here without a lot of trouble. There are no paths to speak of, so I've heard old hunters say."
"That's good," Mr. Hardman remarked, half to himself. "That's just what I want. Is this the only road leading into the woods from Darewell?"
"The only one," replied Bart.
"Then I guess I've seen enough."
"Do you think you'll build a house here?" asked Ned.
"Build a house here? What do you—Of course. Well, I like the place first rate. I must come again some day. I think we'll go back now. By the way, I must pay you," and he handed Bart the five-dollar bill.
"I'm much obliged," Bart said. "I'm afraid it was hardly worth so much. It was a regular picnic for us."
"So much the better," replied Mr. Hardman with a smile. "Now we'll go back."