"Hip, hip, hurrah!" shouted Rob as the big door closed with a bang, and he flung himself against it to make sure that it was shut tight. "We've got him all right enough. He can't get out of there until we want him."
"And now that you have got him, Robby," said the miller, laying his hand affectionately on the boy's shoulder. "perhaps you'll tell us what you are going to do with him."
Up to this point Rob had kept his own counsel, because his Scotch shrewdness told him it would be best to do so until the capture was successfully effected. But now there was no longer need for reserve.
"You remember that gentleman who was here hunting last winter, don't you, father?" said he, looking up eagerly into Mr. M'Leod's face.
"You mean Professor Owen from New York."
"Yes. Well, you know he said he'd give a hundred pounds for a full-grown moose alive; and now you must write and tell him you've got a beauty for him, and to come along and get it."
The miller's face became radiant as his son spoke. He now understood what had been in Rob's mind, and why he had shown such intense anxiety to secure the moose uninjured.
"God bless you, my boy!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around his neck, for the revulsion of feeling broke down his characteristic reserve. "I see what you've been driving at. You always were a bright lad, and now, maybe, you're going to save me from ruin. I won't wait to write Professor Owen; I'll telegraph him. He left me his address so that I might let him know when the hunting was good."
Mounting his best horse, Mr. M'Leod hastened to the village, and sent this despatch to the professor: "Have a splendid live moose in my barn. Do you want him?"
Before many hours the reply came: "Am coming for him by first train."