“Hadn’t you better put on some clothes?” suggested Jack, trying to stifle his laughter.
“Oh, that’s right!” exclaimed the hermit, who had apparently quite forgotten that he was bereft of all garments. He returned to the shack, put on an old blanket, and with this wrapped about him he set about collecting his rags once more, grumbling to himself all the time.
“I s’pose that blame lightnin’ will hit one of my sheep next trip,” he grunted, as if the fact that he had been struck was nothing compared with the loss of one of his sheep.
“Speaking of sheep, we’d better go and see how the ponies are getting along,” said Jack presently.
They ran to the rough shed where the ponies had been tied. Two of them, they found, had been knocked down by a bolt, while the other was half wild from fright. The two that had been struck were just struggling to their feet.
The boys quieted their distressed animals and saddled them up ready to depart from the strange old hermit and his abode.
“You can’t blame the ponies for being scared,” declared Jack with a laugh; “being knocked out twice in one day is pretty tough.”
“Unless you’re a hermit,” laughed Walt, at which they all roared.
Jack handed the hermit some money to pay for their entertainment as they were leaving. The old man took it without a word, except to say that he would have to hurry and stitch a pocket on his rags so as to have some place to put it.
Then, without a word of farewell, he continued picking up his scattered raiment, and the last the boys saw of him he was still intent on his odd task.