"I should like to carry it home," said Marco; "but I suppose you would think that that would be a foolish plan."
"No," said Forester, "I do not think it would be foolish. The shingle is flat, and will lie down in the bottom of your trunk; and, after you get tired of it as a shingle, you can have a little box made of it, and keep it all your life, as a memorial of this expedition."
This was a very good plan, for Marco had not shaved his shingle very thin. In fact, it was of about equal thickness at the two ends. This, though a very serious fault in a shingle, made it much more suitable as a material for making a box of.
Marco also amused himself for half an hour in going down to the spring, where the farmer's wife went to get water, and playing there. There was a pleasant little path leading from the house down to the spring. He went down once alone, and brought up a pail half full of water, for the farmer's wife, which seemed to please her very much.
While he was doing these things, Forester remained in the house, writing letters. Before Forester had finished his last letter, however, Marco had got tired of all his amusements, and began to think that they had better resume their journey.
"Very well," said Forester; "whenever you say the word."
"How are you going?" asked Marco.
"I have made a bargain with the farmer," said Forester, "to let us have his wagon to go through the woods about twenty-five miles, and Isaiah is going with us, in order to drive the wagon back."
Marco was much pleased with this arrangement, and Forester asked him what time they should start. "We are under your direction, you know," said he.
"Yes," said Marco, "and I wish you would let me have the direction all day."