“The men who were after me?” was the reply, and then Jerry recognized the hermit’s voice.
“Yes, they have gone. Come down, you are safe now,” said Jerry.
There was a scrambling among the branches and soon the white-haired old man stood on the ground beside the boy. His clothing was torn, and his beard was matted with briers and brambles. His face and hands were cut, and he bore the appearance of having raced through the thick underbrush.
“I had a hard time escaping them,” said the hermit. “Have you any water? I have not had a drink in several hours, and my throat is parched.”
Jerry ran to the water pail to get the hermit a drink. The noise he made aroused the others.
“What is it? Are they attacking us?” asked Mr. Snodgrass.
“No, the hermit has come back,” replied Jerry. “He was hiding up in a tree.”
The professor hurried out of the shack, and joined the old man, who seemed very glad to get back among his new friends. He said he had been wandering around ever since he ran away when the stranger appeared, and, at last, had determined to try and find the boys’ camp.
“Now you are here we will take good care of you, Mr.—er—Mr.—” stammered the professor, forgetting that the hermit had refused to disclose his identity. The old man noticed the hesitating tones.
“There is no reason why I should keep my name a secret from you any longer,” he said. “You probably never heard of me, and never will again. I only desire to remain hidden from my enemies, and I think you are my friends.”