Of course both the laggards were up and ready by the time the call to breakfast was heard in the land. It may be that the smell of the eggs and bacon frying and the aromatic coffee’s bubbling had much to do with arousing them.
While they were eating who should appear but the hired man of Farmer Brush. He had a big basket on his arm, also a note for the scout master.
“I have to go to town early this morning or I’d fetch these few things myself,” the note ran; “I want you to accept them from me with my compliments, and my hearty thanks for your entertainment last night. I have hardly slept a wink thinking about what you told me; and next meeting me and my boys will be on hand.
“Ezra Brush.
“P.S. The chickens my wife sends you, and she says they are tender enough to fry.”
Besides the four chickens, all ready for cooking, there was a fine print of new butter, as well as a carton of several dozen eggs fresh from the coop.
“Three cheers for Mr. Brush, fellows!” cried Tom, after the scout master had read the note aloud; and they were given with a will, much to the entertainment of Bill, who stood there and grinned broadly.
It was about eight o’clock when the column started once more. They meant to leave the main road they had been following up to this time, for it did not run in the direction they wanted to go.
There was another smaller one which they expected to follow, for that day at least, and which skirted the base of the mountain, even ascending it in several places, as their map showed.
“It will be our last day on any sort of road, if we follow out the programme as arranged,” Tom Chesney explained, as they sat around at noon munching the “snack” each scout had been commissioned to prepare at breakfast time against his being hungry in the middle of the day, when they would not care to start a fire in order to do any cooking.