It was not until the doctor rapped sharply at the wooden partition that separated the boys’ from the men’s quarters at the shanty, that the murmuring buzz ceased. “Look here, you two,” he said; “if you don’t want to sleep we do, so just be quiet. It’s somewhere about one o’clock, and when getting-up time comes you’ll want to sleep.”
“All right, father,” said Chris, in a very wakeful tone; “we won’t talk any more.”
But they did, in a whisper, for something in the way of recrimination began.
“It was all your fault,” said Ned. “I wanted to go to sleep hours ago, but you would keep beginning again about the bothering old chart.”
“Oh come, I like that!” replied Chris. “Who kept on wondering whether we should meet Indians, and whether they scalped people now!”
“Well, yes, I did say something about that. Only fancy, though, how horrid!”
“Shan’t! We’re to go to sleep. I say, though, Ned; think we shall really get away from this bothering old hoeing and weeding and killing blight?”
“Can’t think: I’m nearly asleep.”
“Oh, what a thumper! You’re as wide awake as I am.”
S–n–n–o–r–r–r–e!