"That so? Then we'll drive her home."
"Aw, say, Bill," protested Maurice, "I'm tired an' wet as a water-logged plank. Let her go. I'll tell Dad, an' he kin come after her tomorrow."
"No, we'll drive her home now. I guess I know what's best. Get on t'other side of her. Now then, don't let her turn back!"
Maurice grumblingly did his share of the driving. It was no easy task to pilot that big, rangy sow into the safe harbor of the Keeler barnyard but done it was at last.
"Ma's got the light burnin' an' the strap waitin' fer her little boy," chaffed Billy as they put up the barn-yard bars.
Maurice, who had climbed the fence so as to get a glimpse of the interior of his home through a window, whistled softly as his eyes took in the scene within.
"Say, Billy," he cried, "your Ma an' Pa's there."
"Gee whitticker!" exclaimed Billy. "I wish now I hadn't promised you I'd come in. All right, lead on. Let's get the funeral over with."
Without so much as another word the boys went up the path.
"If I don't see you ag'in alive, Bill, good bye," whispered Maurice as he opened the door.