My dear, careless old uncle was in great danger. As I think of it now, what a whited sepulchre he had become in a moment! Had I better consult Mr. Wright? No. My pride in my uncle and my love for him would not permit it. I must bear my burden alone until I could tell Aunt Deel. She would know what to do. Mr. Wright came along and found me sitting in deep dejection on a bed of vivid, green moss by an old stump at the trail-side.
"What ye doing here?" he asked in surprise.
"Nothing," I answered gravely.
The Comptroller must have observed the sorrow in my face, for he asked:
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing," I lied, and then my conscience caught up with my tongue and I added: "It's a secret."
Fearing that my uncle would disgrace himself in the hearing of Mr. Wright, I said something—I do not remember what, save that it related to the weather—in a loud voice by way of warning.
They noticed the downcast look of me when we entered camp.
"Why, Bub, you look tired," said Uncle Peabody as he gave me that familiar hug of his.
I did not greet him with the cheerful warmth which had characterized our meetings, and seeing the disappointment in his look I kissed him rather flippantly.