“I’m—I’m thinkin’ he won’t do that,” solaced David, though his voice was not as convincing as Andy would have wished.
“Maybe—there’s nothin’ t’ worry over,” agreed Andy.
“That makes me think o’ Doctor Joe’s song,” said David. “Let’s sing un, Andy. She’s a wonderful cheerin’ song.”
“Let’s do,” said Andy, and together they sang, loud and lustily:
“Old Worry’s my foe, and he always brings woe,
And he follows about wherever I go.
He’s always on hand, and he makes the world blue,
And all about troubles that never come true.”
After all, what do any of us gain from worry, though all of us have reason enough for it sometimes. David and Andy resolved to believe that Indian Jake had really gone to The Jug. They were the better and more efficient for believing it. And they resolved to smile and be cheerful, too, and not fret and worry and stew about troubles that might not be troubles at all. But it required grit a-plenty, for often enough a suspicion of Indian Jake forced itself upon them.
On Saturday morning the boys devoted themselves to setting snares for rabbits. A dozen short pieces of stout twine found about the cabin were utilized for this purpose.