"Dave," queried Mr. Black, shaking his head soberly, "is there any way of discovering what you do think? Are you all rascal or are you part angel—with the angel part very much disguised? I can't make you out."
But this was too deep for Dave.
"Ah'm t'ink," replied Dave, replying to only the first part of Mr. Black's question, "dat dose poor li'le Margy ees don't want to go home wit' hees aunt. Me, Ah'm not care for go home wit' dose aunt maself."
At this the delighted girls shrieked with mirth, for the idea of Aunty Jane taking Dave home with her would have amused even Dave's solemn dog. Mr. Black, however, still frowned slightly, for Dave puzzled him.
"Dave," said he, "you're altogether too full of tricks. I suppose you don't know what courtesy toward a woman means; but you've certainly been ruder than you should have been to poor Miss Higgins. You'll have to go to Lakeville to-night and tell that poor woman that Marjory is safe—perhaps I'd better write her a note so she won't blame Marjory."
"Ah'm go right off," agreed Dave, cheerfully. "Maybe Ah'm find som' more queelt on hees line."
"Dave, you incorrigible rascal," stormed Mr. Black, "you let that lady's clothesline alone. Steal one off my line, if you must have a quilt—I'm better able to spare it."
"Ah'm good frien' to you," protested Dave, earnestly, with the outstretched hand of good-fellowship. "You shake hon dat?"
"I hope you are," returned Mr. Black, shaking the proffered hand. "But, Dave, your conscience is like that river—no one could possibly map its windings. And after this, my man, you must be a good friend to my friends, as well as to me. Now let's go back to camp and see what our Billy boy is doing."