“Wal, sonny,” said Godfrey, “how does the pup understand his business?”
“O, it will be no trouble at all to break him,” answered David. “He understands some things as well as an old dog already.”
“I’m glad to hear ye say so, an’ I’m glad to see ye’ve done so well,” said Godfrey, glancing at the bunch of quails. “Ye’re getting to be a right smart hunter. Ye can make a good livin’ at it some day, if ye want to.”
“But I don’t want to,” said David quickly. “I can make a better living at something else, and take care of my mother, too.”
“That’s right, sonny. Allers think of yer mam, what’s done so much fur ye; an’ of yer pop, too. He’s worked monstrous hard to edicate ye an’ keep a roof over yer head, yer pop has, an’ ye’d oughter to begin to pay him back purty soon. Now, put away yer gun an’ go an’ chop some wood fur yer mam to cook supper by. She’s tired, an’ so be I. We’ve worked powerful hard this arternoon, we have, while ye’ve been trampin’ about enjoyin’ yerself.”
Godfrey settled back on the bench and gave his undivided attention to his pipe for a few seconds and then suddenly arose and entered the cabin. He had counted the moments of Dan’s absence pretty closely and knew about what time to look for his return. He knew, too, what the boy would do first when he came back, and wanted to be where he could watch all his movements. He applied his eye to the hole in the wall where the chinking had fallen out, and was just in time to see Dan climb the fence that separated the woods from the little clearing in which the cabin stood, and make his way towards the corn-crib. When he reached it he paused long enough to make sure that there was no one in sight, and then quickly took the harness down from its place, and pulled out the pin. A hasty glance at the interior of his hiding place, satisfied him that everything was just as he had left it; and this being settled he pulled something out of his pocket, pushed it into the opening, replaced the pin, and hung up the harness, just as David, with an axe on his shoulder, came whistling around the corner of the cabin.
Having seen all he wanted to see, Godfrey quickly crossed the cabin and seating himself on the bench pulled vigorously at his pipe.
“Fur downright Yankee ’cuteness an’ smartness I jist think I lay over ’most anybody,” thought he, giving his knee an approving slap. “I’m jist three dollars an’ a half ahead of what I would have been, if I had kept that money when I had it. When Dan told me that he’d done sold that beef, I knowed what he’d do with the money, an’ that’s why I sent him into the woods arter them squirrels. It give me time to fix things in that hole jist as I found ’em, an’ now Dan’s done gone an’ put that three an’ a half in there too, which makes me a’most seven dollars ahead of the hounds, if I counted it up on my fingers right, an’ I reckon I did. I hain’t agoin’ to hunt fur that bar’l to-night, kase when Dan goes to sleep I want to slip out thar an’ get that money, afore he has a chance to take it out an’ put it sowewhar else!”
At this moment Dan came around the corner of the cabin, with a string of squirrels thrown over his shoulder. There were eight of them altogether and he held them up so that his father could see that every one of them was shot through the head. Godfrey complimented him on his skill, and when the boy passed into the cabin became suddenly silent and thoughtful. A question had just occurred to him. What if Dan had spent some of the money at the landing before he came home? He could not breathe freely until he found out.
“Dannie,” said he, as the boy, having put away his rifle, came out again and seated himself on a log near the cabin preparatory to skinning the squirrels he had shot, “ye told me ye’d got——how much fur that quarter of beef?”