The boys were much refreshed by the hot breakfast, and when Tommy helped little Mary from the platform he was in a humor to tease her. He even went so far as to pull her ear gently and to pinch her cheeks,—to put life in ’em, as he expressed it. Mary smiled and colored slightly: the first faint flush of little girlhood. She liked Tommy, and he liked her. Rough and boisterous with boys, he was always gentle and thoughtful with the little girls, and Mary, to his mind, was the belle of Lick Skillet.
When Tommy had helped Mary over the bridge, dropped the spaniel into the water for his morning bath, and shied a few stones at the kingfisher on the top of a telegraph pole, he pushed Jack from the platform, ordered him to bed, and began to tickle the mule with the long lash. Little Jack declared that he was not sleepy. “I’m boss o’ th’ day shif’, Mr. Jack,” said Tommy, “an’ my talk goes,—you’re th’ night hawk,—sabe?”
Jack went reluctantly to the bed that had been fixed for the other boy, but had not been used, and Tommy continued to larrup the mule and watch the marker crawl down the figure-board as the water crept toward the top of the tank. At the end of an hour little Jack came from the shanty, declaring that he was not sleepy.
“Well,” says Tommy, “if yo’ won’t sleep, yo’ kin work,” and he gave Jack the whip. “This ole giraft aint had no breakfast, an’ I guess he’ll want some time th’ tank’s full.”
A half hour later Tommy returned with a big feed of oats in a bag. When he reached the west end of the bridge he stopped, put down the bag, and made the woods ring with his boyish laughter.
The old mule was lying peacefully in the endless path, while little Jack, curled up like a bird dog on the platform, was sound asleep.
Tommy took off his coat, fixed it under Jack’s head for a pillow, and then cautiously wakened the mule. He dared not use the lash now, but, following close behind the mule, prodded him persistently with the whip-handle. Round and round they went, the marker crawled down, the water up, and little Jack snored like a saw-mill.
By twelve o’clock the big tank was full of water, and the old mule was having his breakfast and dinner all at one feed.
“I give yo’ fair warnin’, Mr. Jack Connor,” said Tommy, swimming on his back, “if yo’ don’ skin off yer duds an’ git in here I’ll come up there an’ trow yo’ off d’ bridge, duds an’ all.”