South Beaufort did not interfere with them as they toiled through it. Big Mike and the Conners and all were housed from the blasts. As they gained their own more familiar territory Hal blurted, suddenly:
“I’m sorry I was scared, fellows. But Bob howled so like the dickens that I thought something was going to happen.”
“Oh, pish!” muttered Tom—the first time in hours that he had spoken a word.
“That’s all right,” said Ned. “Hal had more grit than any of us, because he came ahead even though he was scared.”
Mrs. Miller was half frantic, and even Mr. Miller, sure as he was that Ned would “turn up,” was getting restive, when Ned tramped upon the front porch and in through the welcoming door.
“Oh, Neddie!” cried his mother.
“Don’t scold me. I’m so tired!” pleaded Ned, now feeling free to give in.
He pitched into a chair before the sitting-room stove, and they removed his cap and scarf and mittens, and pulled off his boots. After he had swallowed some warm supper, and had stammered his tale, he stumbled to bed; and his ankle throbbed, throbbed, throbbed, through all the night.
The next day he was on crutches again. Hal reported as well as ever. It was Tom, the silent, dogged Tom, who fared the worst, just as he had said the least. For a month he was sick from the strain and the exposure.