“What did they do that for?” demanded Jim.
“In the course of his duty,” Mr. Fenton smiled. “We’ll be very much obliged if you will give us the details of the war while we breakfast. We want to know all about it. It isn’t every day that exciting things happen around us and we feel that we have been slighted—”
“That’s all right, Mr. Fenton. Bob did most of it. I’ll tell you the whole story—”
“I did not do most of it,” Bob denied emphatically. “If you leave out anything you did, I’ll tell them.”
“Fair enough,” Mr. Fenton laughed. “Now sit down, satisfy the first pangs of hunger, then begin,” he ordered, and the boys took their places.
Between the two of them, the Fentons were able to get a fairly interesting account of what happened, and when the story was finished, Mrs. Fenton looked at them soberly.
“My, my, you might both have been killed. That was why you got me those new baskets. I thought there was something queer about your losing it,” Mrs. Fenton exclaimed. “If you had lost it, or forgotten it, I should not have minded one bit; but if you had told me how you happened to throw it overboard, I should have been glad.”
“We wanted to be sure that we had a basket for next time,” Bob grinned cheerfully. “We expect there will be other next times.”
“My land of goodness, there’s the mail man. He looks like a drowned rat. Come right in, Harvey.” The R.F.D. man wore boots that came to his thigh, and even at that he was splashed with mud.
“Got a registered letter, and another one that looks important, so I didn’t put them in the box,” the man explained. “Some rain we’ve had. Did you know, Fenton, that the Carrying Point is covered? The water is going over it like a mill race, and I had all I could do to keep the wheels under me. Loaded the car up with rocks or I’d have been swimming around after the letters.”