“For that impertinence you may go over and get an armful of wood. I’m hungry—and you’ll have to eat my cooking. That’s my revenge.”
“I’ll annex the wood-pile—but your cooking—I don’t know. Here, where are you going?”
“Over to the house to borrow a few groceries to feed you. Come on.”
Wallie seemed in no hurry to be up and doing.
“No, I’ll interview the wood-pile.”
He glanced at his muddy clothes. David laughed.
“’Tis not alone my inky cloak—there are other reasons,” said Bascomb, with mock-seriousness. “And by heck! here comes one of them like Ulysses on the home stretch. Well, Davy, when you write, tell them I died a hero.”
As Avery, coming up the slope, saw the figures near David’s cabin, his grim features lightened.
“The boy’s back ag’in,” he exclaimed, quickening his pace. “And the surveyor feller, too, I take it.”
They went to meet him as he hurried up the hill.