“It’s his mournful black eye, my dear young lady,” replied Jimmie.
“Whatever it is,” said Stephen, decisively, “we must not make any accusations without knowing, for certain, that we are right. It is rather an uncomfortable situation, I think, considering he is uncle’s guest.”
“It is, indeed,” replied Alfred, “and I vote that we say not a word to anyone until we find out where José spent the morning.”
“Agreed by all,” cried Jimmie. “Am I right, girls?”
The two girls assented, and the matter was settled.
“I think we had better be moving on toward home, now,” said Stephen, “if we want to escape a scolding from Miss Stuart.”
“All right, general,” replied Jimmie. “The bivouac is at an end. Rise, soldiers, and follow your leader.” He cocked his hat, turned up his coat collar and struck a Napoleon pose.
There was a stifled laugh, from behind a clump of alder bushes—a coarse laugh that made the boys look up quickly and uneasily.
“What was that?” asked Ruth, frightened.
Without waiting for a reply, Alfred divided the bushes with his cane disclosing three pairs of eyes gazing impudently at them. Three figures untangled themselves from the bushes and rose stiffly, as if they had been lying concealed there for a long time. The girls gave a stifled cry of alarm, for each recognized the giant tramp, who had attacked them near the churchyard of Sleepy Hollow; and his companions were probably the same, although the girls had not seen them at that time. The leader of the three roughs did not recognize them, however. He had been too much intoxicated to remember their faces; but he was sober, now, and in an uglier mood than when he had been in his cups.