Oscar seized an axe and hurried into the grove, followed by his fore-loper. Selecting a couple of saplings about fifteen feet in height, he ordered the Hottentot to cut them down and drag them to the fire, after stripping off their branches; and having set all his men at work, he hastened back to the wagon, and began rummaging about for something to eat.
How often, while he was thus engaged, did he think of his mother's clean, cool pantry! He had made it a point to visit that pantry regularly every night when he came from school, tired and hungry, and he was sure to find there a bowl of milk that had just been brought from the spring-house, and a generous slice of brown bread and butter beside it.
But there were no such luxuries to be had here. He found a little cold meat and about half a pint of tea that McCann had left in the pot, and with these and a piece of hardtack he was obliged to be content.
CHAPTER XXVI. A CALL FROM A HONEY-BIRD.
By the time Oscar had eaten his lunch the driver came up with Hautzman—a steady old ox, which showed a great partiality for hardtack and sugar, and had become so gentle from being often regaled with these delicacies that he had learned to answer to his name and to follow his master about like a dog.
"Now, Ferguson," said Oscar, as he stepped out of the wagon with a coil of rope in one hand and some sugar in the other, "look alive, for this fellow has six miles to travel between this time and dark. Tie a leading rheim around his horns and hold him while I fix the harness."
The harness was a very primitive affair, and did not require a great deal of fixing. It was simply a surcingle, and a breast-band to keep it from slipping back out of its place. To the ends of this breast-band were fastened the small ends of the saplings, which the fore-loper brought up by the time the harness was finished.