“No,” replied George, sadly; “you’ll not put them to any trouble.” Then, seeing the expression of surprise and inquiry on the faces of the rescued boys, he added, “I am my own cook and housekeeper. I am living up here alone.”
“Oh, you’re out for a holiday, then! You came here to hunt and fish, I suppose?”
“Yes, I came here to fish; but I am not taking a holiday. It’s a matter of bread and butter with me.”
“You don’t say so! Can’t you find anything to do in the village?”
“No, I can’t,” replied George.
But he did not tell the boy the reason why.
“Well, there’s no use in standing here in the rain any longer. Let’s go up to your ‘shanty,’ as you call it. You have rendered us a most important service,” said Goggles, with much feeling, as he took George’s hand in both his own and shook it warmly. “I never saw anybody exhibit as much pluck as you have shown to-day. What can we do for you?”
“Take a big bite while you are about it,” said the other boy, who had stood by, listening in silence to this conversation. “We owe our lives to you.”
“You owe me nothing but your good-will,” replied George. “I am sure you would have done as much for me.”
“I don’t know about that,” replied Goggles, as the three hurried up the beach toward the cabin. “One needs courage, and a good share of it, too, to enable him to go deliberately into danger for the sake of helping somebody; and that’s a quality I don’t pretend to possess. Now, perhaps you would like to know who we are. My friend here is Bob Howard, and he lives away out of the world, in a place called Arizona. I am Dick Langdon, at your service, and live in a white man’s country, my home being in Connecticut.”