“What you standin’ here gapin’ at?” demanded the squatter, fiercely. He had drawn back his fist with the full intention of striking Tom; but when he saw that the boy did not appear to be at all afraid of him, he thought better of it.
“Why do you come at us in that savage way?” demanded Tom. “We don’t scare worth a cent. If you want to get even with any one for the shameful manner in which you have been treated, there’s the man you must go for,” he added, pointing toward the grove which concealed Mr. Wayring’s house from view. “He is entirely to blame for all the trouble you have had. Your cabin is on his land, and the trustees never would have thought of ordering you off if he had not complained of you.”
Matt and his family were greatly astonished. They thought that every one in town looked down on them because they were poor, but here was somebody who sympathized with them. Tom, quick to see that he had made an impression upon the angry squatter, went on to say—
“If the people of this village should treat me as they have treated you, it would make a regular Ishmaelite of me.”
“What sort of a feller is that?” asked Matt.
“Why, Ishmael was a hunter who lived a good many years ago,” answered Tom. “His hand was against every man, and every man’s hand was against him. He didn’t have a friend in the world.”
“That’s me,” exclaimed Matt, who seemed pleased to know that there was, or had been, at least one other man in existence who knew what trouble was. “I ain’t got no friends nuther. These rich folks have tried to starve me since I came here, but they didn’t do it—not by a long shot.”
“Now, if I were situated as you are,” continued Tom, “I would draw a bee-line for Sherwin’s pond—”
“Where’s that?” inquired Matt.
“It lies off that way, fifteen miles from the head of this lake,” replied Tom, indicating the direction with his finger, and wondering at the same time how Matt could have expected to render acceptable service as guide to the guests of the hotels, when he was not acquainted with the surrounding country. “There are about twelve miles of rapids in the stream that connects the lake with Sherwin’s pond, but your punt will go through easy enough if you can keep her clear of the rocks. As I was saying, I would go down there, put up my cabin and live in peace. I’d make more money, too, than I could by acting as guide and boatman.”