“Probably they will. We ought to have a lemon. Well, thanks for listening.”
“Same to you.” The connection was cut off, and Jim joined his step-brother on the veranda.
“Listen, Buddy, that watch dog Uncle Norman bought, died this morning, and now the other one is sick. What do you know about that?”
“Rotten. Wonder if there was anything the matter with them when they arrived, or if some one over there didn’t want watch dogs?”
“Hezzy?”
“That’s the lad I’m going to keep an eye on. Gosh.” He jumped to his feet and started to walk toward the garden. “For a quiet little place, we surely have found no end of excitement since we landed.”
“It hasn’t been exactly dull,” Bob admitted. They went on in silence and at last they reached the edge of the alfalfa meadow. The stones the strange boy had been working with a few days before were neatly arranged in a low wall, and the land above was terraced as if by someone skilled in the art. The whole section which the Fenton’s had called the bog had been plowed, smoothed on a slight incline toward the lake, which left the garden side lower than that land, and this also was built up with a cleverly set curb of stones. There were three small outlets which acted as drains, and in spite of the heavy rains the land was comparatively dry.
“Well, anyway, your uncle has got this work to be thankful for. It sure looks like a grand piece of land. Perhaps he can plant it with something that he can harvest this season. Must be odd to be in a place where the summers are as short as they are here. I’d like to see it in the fall. It must be quite a sight.”
“I’d like to see it in the winter. Mom says the lake freezes over, and the people who live near cut ice, and they can cross to New York, or any place they want to go. They drive, have races and skate,” Bob volunteered.
“We can’t stay to see all that,” Jim said regretfully. “The parents wouldn’t stand for it.”