“There’s a lot of people living at the north end of the Isle, and they are likely to go roaming all over the place. Sometimes the school teachers take nature classes to study the trees, and the Boy Scouts asked permission to camp there. Hezzy knows them all and he lets them go parts where they won’t do any damage or scare the birds.”
“Probably it’s all right then.” Jim dismissed the idea that he might have spotted something important, and followed the others into the house.
“I got some bananas, Mees Fenton.” It was a soft pleasant voice that spoke, and the lips were parted in a wide smile.
“Little Greaser?” Bob said in an undertone.
“More likely little Canuck,” Jim reminded him. “And he’s not so little at that.” The man was certainly picturesque in his baggy trousers, tied at the knees with pieces of new hemp, a red flannel shirt, and velvet jacket. He stood over six feet in his moccasins, which were of thick deer skin, and he might have been taller, but the weight of his hat must have kept him down.
“I’ll be right out, Pedro,” Mrs. Fenton called and she hurried away to rid herself of the extra clothing she had donned for the air ride. The two boys strolled out on the veranda to wait for her, and they could see the huge covered truck standing under the shade of two of the maples that edged the winding main road. Being sure of a customer, Pedro proceeded to his wagon, opened the end doors, leaped lightly over the tail board, and disappeared.
“Cracky, it doesn’t look like any wagon I ever saw before,” said Bob.
“No.” They studied it with interest. It was heavily built, evidently constructed for long hauls and to carry heavy loads. The “cover” was of wood and metal, and the whole thing was painted a brilliant red and deep blue.
“Anyone would recognize that as far as he could see it,” laughed Bob. “Oh, here you are.” Mrs. Fenton came out with a basket on her arm and the three made their way to the caravan.
“Do all these peddlers have wagons like that?” Jim wanted to know.