“I’ll ask mother,” said the young girl.
And forthwith she disappeared. She came back in company with a stout, motherly-looking woman. Philip repeated his request.
“Why, to be sure,” she said heartily. “We always have enough, and to spare. Come right in, and we’ll have supper as soon as the men-folks come in.”
They entered a neat kitchen, in the middle of which was set out a table, with a savory supper upon it. Henry’s eyes sparkled, and his mouth watered, for the poor boy was almost famished.
“If you want to wash come right in here,” said the farmer’s wife, leading the way into a small room adjoining.
The two boys gladly availed themselves of the permission, though Henry would not have minded sitting right down, dusty as he was. However, he felt better after he had washed his face and bands and wiped them on the long roll towel that hung beside the sink.
They were scarcely through, when their places were taken by the farmer and his son, the latter a tall, sun-burned young man, of about twenty, who had just come in from a distant field. The farmer’s wife soon explained the presence of the two young strangers.
“Sho!” said the farmer. “You’re pretty young to be travelin’. You ain’t in any business, be you?”
Henry was rather ashamed to mention that his business was killing Indians, though, as yet, he had not done anything in that line. He had an idea that he might be laughed at.
“I am a little of a musician,” said Philip modestly.