“Hurrah! We’re in luck!” cried Ned. “Now for a meal and a chance to send word home!”
“We can’t go looking this way!” exclaimed Fenn. “Look at our clothes!”
“You mean don’t look at ’em,” corrected Bart. “We’ll hang a sign out; ‘We have better ones at home.’ That will satisfy any one. As for me I’d go there and ask for a bite if I only had my swimming togs on, and these are a heap-sight more respectable than those. Here goes!”
He strode forward, pulling wisps of hay from his hair. The others followed. From the field they emerged into a country road that led to the village. They were almost at the outskirts of the hamlet, where several houses were grouped together when a boy came from one out into the highway, carrying a pail of milk.
“That looks good!” exclaimed Bart. “Hi, kid,” he called, “sell us a drink of milk, will you?”
The boy halted. He gazed at the four strange figures approaching; figures clad in ragged overalls and jumpers; bare-footed figures, with bits of hay clinging to them. Then the boy dropped his pail of milk spilling it all over and with a yell of: “Pop! Pop! Here they be!” he dashed back into the house.
The next moment three men came from the house. They carried clubs in their hands, and one had a gun.
“Here they are!” called one, as the three advanced on the run toward the boys.
“Polite way to receive guests,” commented Bart.
As he spoke there came hurrying from houses adjoining that where the boy lived who gave the alarm, a number of men and youths. All of them had clubs or some sort of weapon.