CHAPTER XVIII
THE NEW RECTORY
When Betty returned, and Donald told her the happenings of the morning, the clouds dispersed somewhat, and before long the dictum that “there is humor in all things”—even in ejection from house and home—seemed proven true. After lunch they sat in Donald’s den, and were laughingly suggesting every kind of habitat, possible and impossible, from purchasing and fitting up the iceman’s covered wagon and perambulating round the town, to taking a store and increasing their income 213 by purveying Betty’s tempting preserves and confections.
Their consultation was interrupted by the arrival of Nickey, armed with a Boy Scouts’ “Manual.”
“Gee! Mr. Maxwell: Uncle Jonathan Jackson’s all right; I’ll never do another thing to guy him. He’s loaned us his tent for our Boy Scouts’ corpse, and I’ve been studyin’ out how to pitch it proper, so I can show the kids the ropes; but––”
“Donald!” cried Betty. “The very thing—let’s camp out on the church lot.”
“By Jinks!” exclaimed Maxwell, unclerically. “We’ll have that tent up this very afternoon—if Nickey will lend it to us, second hand, and get his men together.”
Nickey flushed with delight. “You betcher life I will,” he shouted excitedly. “Is it for a revival stunt? You ’aint goin’ to live there, are you?”