“Down the road a spell. Keep right on an’ you can’t miss it.” And that was all the boys could get out of the occupant of the cottage.
“He must be a crabbed old chap,” was Harry’s comment, as they resumed their weary tramp.
“Well, an old man can’t do much, especially if he is living all alone. I suppose he’s afraid to leave his place for fear the tramps will visit it during his absence,” and in this surmise Joe was correct.
Fortunately the farm belonging to Andy Dugan was not far distant. The farmer was a whole-souled Irishman and both boys had met him on more than one occasion at Mr. Westmore’s store.
“Sure, an’ where did you b’ys spring from?” said Dugan, on opening the door. “’Tis a likely walk ye are from town.”
“We’ve been out for some nuts, over to Glasby’s Hill,” answered Harry.
“Ah now, so ye’ve got there before me, eh? I didn’t know ’twas known there was nuts there.”
“Mr. Dugan, we want your help,” put in Joe, quickly.
“Phat for, Joe—to help carry home the nuts? Where’s the bags?”
“We met some tramps, and——”