But Biscuit did not tarry to hear more. He fled. Nor did he stop again until he had reached the swimming-hole, which he did shortly after Sube's return from his unsuccessful pursuit. Sube had just finished telling how he had burst into the church—and burst out again without being observed, when the sound of footsteps was heard on the path.
"Hark! There's somebody after us already! We'll get—"
Then Biscuit came into view.
As one they flew to welcome him.
"Good for you, old kid! How'd you get away from all those old hens? Come 'ere, let's see if I can't wipe off some of that ol' paint with my undershirt—"
It took the underwear of the entire party to make Biscuit presentable, and meanwhile he had given an account of the proceedings at the church.
"She never noticed the paint at all!" he declared. "She jus' asked me if I could swim, and when I said I didn't know, she sent me back to find out."
"You'll find out all right!" came a gruff voice from behind him.
Turning around, Biscuit beheld Seth Bissett, the terror of the town, who had received his preliminary training in a reform school and had afterwards finished in the penitentiary. The other boys dived into the pool and swam to safety on the farther side of the creek; but Biscuit, forgetting for the moment his theoretical mastery of the deep, attempted to effect his escape by land, and ran into the arms of Warren Sours, the ally and familiar friend of Seth Bissett.
"How many times I gotta tell you little rats to keep away from this swimmin'-hole?" cried Seth with the assistance of several ever-ready strong words, as he roughly grasped Biscuit by the shoulder and faced him around. "Can you swim, bo?"