"I could kill them," he said. "Yes, I could."
"'Twouldn't be no use," remarked Tom, sapiently; "'cause they'd only take you off too. I wish we could do something, though—I wish we could."
"Can't we?" questioned Paul, his face kindling with eagerness. "Oh, don't you think we could?"
"You're such a little bit of a chap," Tom replied, eyeing his companion, with a natural exultation at his own superiority in point of inches and weight.
"I'm little," Paul said, "but I am very brave—oh, you don't know! And Jube—Jube is strong like a lion, he could do any thing."
"I wonder if she couldn't run away," Tom burst out, quite overcome by his own inspiration. "I don't suppose she could run, you know, but she might get away."
"And we could help," Paul said, his quick intelligence seizing at once upon the suggestion; "I am sure we could."
"Why, my marm would kill me!" exclaimed Tom. "Wouldn't I ketch it, oh, my!"
"You would beg and pray," said Paul; "she could not refuse—she would be willing."
"Wal, I guess we wouldn't ask her—'tain't disobeyin' when you hain't been told not to do a thing, and nobody can tell you what to do when they never heerd of it."