Chapter Fourteen.
Oscar Finds the Truants—Breakfast for Seven—Seth Spins a Yarn—The Walrus-Hunters—The Indians—Beautiful Scenery—A Week’s Good Sport.
Rap—rap—rap! Rat—tat—tat—tat!
“What, ho! within there.” Rat—tat—tat!
Bow—wow—wow.
Old Seth had been up hours ago, and far away in the forest, but sleep still sealed the eyelids of both Allan and Rory, although it must have been pretty nearly eight bells, in the morning watch.
Rat—tat—tat! “Hi! hi! any one within?”
After a considerable deal of the silly sort of dreaming that heavy sleepers persist in conducting on such occasions, when you are trying your very best to awake them, Rory first, then Allan heard the sound, became sensible at once, and sprang from their couches of skins.
“Why,” cried Rory, “it is McBain’s voice as sure as a gun is a gun.”
“That it is,” said the gentleman referred to, entering the wigwam, accompanied by Ralph and Oscar, “and if I had known the door was only latched, it is in I would have been to shake you. Pretty pair of truants you are.”