Freckles, eating a bun and followed by Silky, came leisurely through the screen door. Mary Louise asked him to sit down and talk to her.
“Can’t long,” was the reply. “Have to go see old man Flick.”
“Don’t speak of Mr. Flick in that disrespectful way!” said Mary Louise disapprovingly.
“I will, though. I hate him. He thinks us guys set his old inn on fire, and we really saved his trees. Sweatin’ like horses, carryin’ water from the river, and that’s all the thanks we get!”
“Freckles,” said his sister seriously, “you must tell me all about what you did yesterday. Everything! No secrets. Because this is important. It may save somebody innocent from imprisonment—and help spot the real criminal.”
“O.K., I will, Sis.” He sat down on the hammock, and Silky jumped up beside him. He gave the little dog a piece of his bun, and then he began.
“Up in the woods beyond Shady Nook—past the Ditmars’, you know, and all the cottages—we’re building a shack. A clubhouse for the ‘Wild Guys of the Road.’ So yesterday we took our lunch—the two Smiths, the two Reeds, and I—to set to work.”
“Did you make a fire?” demanded Mary Louise.
“Sure we made a fire. We got to have a fire. But don’t you go thinking that fire spread to Flicks’. If it had, why wouldn’t Ditmars’ and Robinsons’ cottages have been burned? They’re in between.”
“Yes, that’s true. Did you stay there in the woods all day?”