“H-h-how do you git the logs out?” Mark wanted to know.
Right off his curiosity got to working.
“Poke around with a pike-pole till you find a log. Git a chain fast around her, start your engin’ goin’, and jerk her out with the derrick. Pile ’em on shore.”
Mark nodded like he understood. “How came the logs to be in the river?” he asked.
“Got water-logged and sunk when rafts was runnin’ down,” says Uncle Hieronymous. “Now, you four git together and decide if I can go. I’ll be gone maybe two weeks. Dun’no’ jest where I’ll be, but somewheres on the river below. Plenty of grub in the house, plenty of fish in the stream. Nothin’ to hurt you. How about it, eh?”
“Go, far’s I’m concerned,” I told him.
“M-m-me too,” says Mark; and the rest joined in.
“Won’t be afraid?” asked Uncle Hieronymous. “Sure? Don’t mind bein’ alone with Marthy and Mary, eh? Now be sure. Don’t forgit them two white cats when you’re thinkin’ it over.”
“We hain’t f-f-forgot ’em,” says Mark. Then he up and asked another question. “What I’m wonderin’,” he says, “is, did Mr. Skoog and Mr. Yack ask you all that themselves or did they bring it written in a l-l-l-letter?”
“They—fetched—a—letter,” he wheezed.