"You bet you did!" cried the boys, together.
Maurice stood up. "Well, as there's no need to keep watch here, maybe I best trail along home. Anse'll be gettin' tired waitin' fer me."
"That won't hurt him; he's always tired anyway," rejoined Billy. "But we'd best go."
At the door he paused and turned toward Harry. "Where's Gibson's Grove?" he asked.
Harry, who had picked up his hat and taken his tin whistle from his bosom, shook his head. "There's no sech place, I'm thinkin'," he answered.
Billy frowned. "What did Hinter say when you gave him the message, Harry?"
Harry chuckled. "Faith, ut's crazy he thought I was I guess," he cried. "'Ould man,' sez he, 'somebody has been playin' a trick on ye. I know no such place as Gibson's Grove.' Thin begobs! he laughed, like he saw the humor av ut, and had me sate meself in the shade and smoke a cigar while I risted. So I'm thinkin', byes, them min jest wanted to get rid av me the while they ransacked me house and belongin's, bad cess to 'em!"
Billy laughed. "Come along as far as the clearin', Harry," he invited, "and play us a tune that'll cheer Maurice up, will you?"
"Faith, an' that I'll do," cried O'Dule. "Lilt him a chune I wull that'll make his laggin' feet dance, and his laggin' spirit look up above the slough av despond."
And so down the path ridged with the bronze bars of late afternoon sunlight, they passed, Harry strutting in the lead, wrinkled face lifted, scanty white locks streaming in the breeze as he drew from his whistle a wild sweet melody.