“It’s surely lonely enough up this way,” remarked Leslie. “Not a sign of a cabin around.”
“I heard there were one or two shanties on Bass Island that the berry pickers stay in when it storms, the best picking being over on the island,” answered Peg Fosdick. “We can make use of them for a storage place.”
“And, too, if any finiky chap doesn’t like the idea of sleeping under canvas, he’s at liberty to fix himself a bunk where he’ll have a real roof over him,” put in Dan.
He looked at Humbert when saying this. The “superior” boy colored a little and hastened to say:
“Oh! as for me, I’ve quite made up my mind that when I’m in Rome I shall do as the Romans do. My uncle advised me to forget that we came of an old and honored New England family when associating with——Oh! I mean that I want to do just as the rest of you think is best.”
“He came mighty near calling us common folks!” whispered Peg, gloomily, turning to Elmer, who chanced to be alongside the limping one. “I reckon that is about what he really believes us to be. I hope His Majesty isn’t going to be contaminated while he’s up here in camp with the common herd. ‘Those who touch pitch will be defiled,’ I heard Mr. Holwell say only last Sunday.”
“I’m real sorry for Humbert,” Elmer told him in reply. “He’s so very nice that this rough-and-ready world isn’t good enough to hold him. He ought to be in a glass case, it strikes me.”
The idea caused Peg to laugh aloud. Possibly Humbert may have suspected that he had something to do with their merriment, for he turned and looked at them almost reproachfully, which caused Peg to say in a low tone:
“Oh! well, I suppose he just can’t help it. He’s been fed with soft pap all his life, and had to associate with that lofty Loft uncle of his who really believes all boys should be forced to read nothing but standard works.”
It was not long before they came in sight of Lake Russabaga. The spectacle was so inspiring that the boys broke out into a loud cheer.