“I am aware of that fact,” said the General, “but couldn't they be used to carry quails in? These bags have you father's name on them, and you had better come and get them.”
These words were uttered in a tone of command, and Bob thought it best to obey. He snatched up the bags, and with Lester by his side made his way down the lane with all possible haste. When they were safe in the road, Bob drew a long breath and remarked:
“That's the end of that scrape.”
“I don't see it,” returned Lester. “It is only the beginning of it. Everybody in the settlement will know it before night.”
“Who cares if they do?” cried Bob, who began to feel like himself, now that he was on solid ground once more. “They can't prove that we went there to steal the quails, and we'll not confess it.”
“No, sir,” replied Lester, emphatically. “You're a sharp one, Bob, to make up such a plausible story on the spur of the moment, but I know the General did not believe a word of it.”
“So do I, but what's the odds? Let's see him prove that I didn't tell him the truth. Now the next thing is something else; we must make up a story to tell my folks when we get home.”
“Can't we run back to the house and go to bed before any of the family are up?”
“I am afraid to try it. A better plan would be to go back in the woods and build a fire and get warm. Then we'll go home, and if anybody asks us where we have been, we'll say we couldn't sleep, and so we got up and went 'coon-hunting.”
“I wish we had one or two 'coons to back up the story,” said Lester.