"Good-day to ye, Father. The blessin's o' Heaven on ye fur not kapin' us starvin' anny longer. There's Potts been swearin', be this and be that, that yourself and the little divvle wudn't be at the Blow-Out at ahl, at ahl."
"You mean the Boy hasn't come back?" called out Mac. He leaned Elephas primigenius against a tuft of willow banked round with snow, and turned gloomily as if to go back down the river again.
"Who's this?" They all stood and watched the limping traveller.
"Why it's—of course. I didn't know him with that thing tied over his cap"; and Mac went to meet him.
The Boy bettered his pace.
"How did I miss you?" demanded Mac.
"Well," said the Boy, looking rather mischievous, "I can't think how it happened on the way down, unless you passed when I 'd gone uphill a piece after some tracks. I was lyin' under the Muff a few miles down when you came back, and you—well, I kind o' thought you seemed to have your hands full." Mac looked rigid and don't-you-try-to-chaff-me-sir. "Besides," the Boy went on, "I couldn't cover the ground like you and Father Wills."
"What's the matter with you?"
"Oh, nothin' to howl about. But see here, Mac."
"Well?"