"If you do, you can't reach the nest."
"I can tell better after I get there."
Dan did his best, but had to give it up; so did Horace. Frank was the best climber of the three, though of lighter weight than the others, and less plump—an exceedingly agile and sinewy boy. He did not, however, relinquish his efforts and slide reluctantly down the trunk till he was within three feet of the lowest limb.
"If you could only boost me up that much I fell short, I could go it," said Frank, "after I rest and get breath."
"Let us," said Dan, "pile up a great heap of stones, one of us stand on that, and the rest put Frank's feet on his shoulders."
"No; get some nails and a hammer, and nail some pieces of board on the tree," said Horace.
"Zuckers! I know how you can git up," said a barefooted, red-headed boy of twelve, whose hat-rim was nearly torn off thrashing bumblebees on thistle blossoms, and who didn't go to the academy nor any other school, save a few weeks in the winter, and who lived on a farm three miles from the village, but had the presumption to come there and go in swimming with the academy boys, because it was the best place on the river, and who could swim like a fish.
"You shut up," said Frank. "How much do you know about it? And what business have you there in our swimming-place?"
"Tain't none of your place, nuther; it's Mr. Seth Hardin's pastur. I've good right here's you have. If you touch me, I'll heave a stone at your head, and I'll tell our Sam, and he'll give you a lickin'."
"What is the way, bub?" said Dan, too anxious to get the eggs to fling away any chance of success. "What do you know about it?"