“But I thought you were going,” remarked Mr. Miller. “I thought you had arranged to go to Deep Creek.”
“I mean, I wish we could go right away, when fishing’s good,” explained Ned, squirming in his chair.
“What is hindering?” inquired his father, looking wondrous ignorant.
“The wood,” faltered Ned. Then he blurted: “Say—can’t I finish it when I come back? It’s just a little bit.”
“Neddie!” reproved his mother. “The idea of addressing your father with ‘say’!”
“Oh! The wood still hangs on, does it?” asked his father, innocently. “Well, Ned, since it is ‘just a little bit’ you can finish it up to-morrow, I should think, and have it off your hands. Besides, don’t you remember that I told you the wood must be piled, first, and the camping could follow?”
“Y-y-yes,” admitted Ned.
“If Hal is in such a hurry,” added his mother, “why don’t you suggest to him that he might help you out by piling, instead of hindering you by talking?”
Ned lapsed into silence. It was no use; the conversation had ended as he had expected. He had only proved that he knew his father much better than Hal did.
Yet, although Hal had failed on one tack, it was he who really brought the rescue, after all. When, within an hour, Ned reported to him the failure of plans for a truce, Hal thought an instant, and suddenly said: