“O, mother, when a boy gets anything in his head, he is bound to do it, by hook or by crook.”
That very day, when Ben came in to dinner, he said, “Sally, we ought to have that pig to eat the milk. It is too bad to throw away all the skim-milk and buttermilk. I guess I must take time and go over to-night and get him.”
“I wouldn’t go to-night, Ben; you will be going with a raft next week, and I can save the milk till then.”
That night, as soon as the rest were asleep, Charles crept down stairs barefoot, and, sitting down on the door-step, put on his shoes and stockings. He then got into his canoe, and pulled across the water for Captain Rhines’s. When he reached the house Tige was lying on the door-step; the old dog knew Charlie, and came towards him, stretching himself, yawning, and wagging his tail. “Good dog,” said Charlie, patting him on the head. Tige held out his paw to shake hands. Charlie knocked at the door, while the dog stood by him. Captain Rhines put his head out of the window to inquire who was there.
“It’s Charlie.”
“Is anybody sick?”
“No, sir; but I want to see John.”
“What do you want of John, this time of night?”
Charlie told him. The captain called John, and in a few moments the boys were hurrying off for Smullen’s, where they called the old man out of bed, and got the pig, and Charlie was soon on his return to the island. He put the pig in the pen, and creeping up stairs as still as a mouse, got into bed just as the gray light was beginning to break.
As they were eating breakfast they heard a strange sound.