"And I'll go with you a ways!" exclaimed Mike, jumping up very promptly.
Pat's farewells were said and the two were off before Mrs. O'Callaghan had recovered herself enough to remonstrate.
"I wanted to be talkin' to you, Pat, and I didn't want mother to hear. That kitchen's too hot for her to sleep in, and that's the truth."
"But there ain't no other place," answered Pat anxiously.
"No," returned Mike triumphantly. "There ain't no other place for mother to sleep, but there is a place we could put the stove, and that's outside."
"What in?" inquired Pat gloomily.
"What in? In nothin', of course. There's nothin' there. But couldn't we stick in four poles and put old boards across so's the stove would be covered, and run the pipe out of a hole in the top?"
"We might," returned Pat, "but you'll have to make up your mind to get wet a-cookin' more days than one. All the rains don't come straight down. There's them that drives under. And you'd have to be carrying the things in through the wet when you got 'em cooked, too."
"And what of that?" asked Mike. "Do you think I care for that? What's me gettin' wet to makin' mother comfortable? There's July and August comin' yet, and June only begun."
Pat looked at his brother admiringly, though the semi-darkness did not permit his expression to be seen.