“I certainly do.”
“Some good, then, ain’t I?”
“Bill Barber,” cried Tom with genuine feeling, “you’re pure gold all through, and every inch a man!”
The Barber boy thrust out his rough paw of a hand to grasp that of his comrade in a hearty grip.
“Tom Barnes,” he said, choking up, and yet with the echo of a glad cheer in his tones, “I’d rather hear you say that than—than—yes, than even get that eleven dollars and seventy-five cents Bert Aldrich owes me.”
The door of the cabin opened, and Grace Morgan stood on its threshold.
“Have we landed, Tom?” she asked.
“Yes, Grace, safe and sound.”
“Oh, how glad Aunt Bertha will be! What are we to do now, Tom?”
“You are to be taken in charge by a lot of kind people, it looks to me,” responded Tom.