CHAPTER XI
An Afternoon's Fun
IF the writer of these veracious chronicles knows anything about boys—and he has been accused of having that knowledge—he is sure that his boy readers, and his girl readers, too, for that matter, will expect an account of that famous farmhouse dinner. Well, we can not delay the story by merely describing what people eat; yet it was a gorgeous feast for our friends. The enjoyment was greatly enhanced by the complete unexpectedness of it all. Not the least part of this enjoyment was the hearty, extraordinary welcome given to a troop of boys who had never been to the house before and were entire strangers to the good people who entertained them so royally.
A few minutes after two o'clock the farmer took from a shelf in the common living-room a large seashell and went to the porch and sounded it lustily, much to the astonishment of George McLeod, who had never seen a shell put to such a use before.
“How did you do it?”he asked.
“Just blew into it. Try it yourself,” said the farmer. McLeod tried and tried again, but could not produce a sound.
“What is it for?”he inquired.
“To call the hands to dinner. We have no bells or whistles out here in the country, so we use a horn, or a big shell, which is the next best thing, and I believe it sounds farther. On a still day I have heard this shell five miles away.”