"Yep. They wasn't nawthin' else tuh be done," came the answer, as the boy grinned a little.
"Bet you he helped his dad skip out, Max," was the suggestion Bandy-legs put up.
"Did you, Jim?" demanded the other.
"I sartin did that same, mistah," came the prompt reply, a little proudly. "Seen whar they done locked dad in the smokehouse. Tried the door, but it wa'n't no go. Then I started tuh tunnel under the wall."
"Well, I declare! What d'ye think of that, now?" exclaimed the wondering
Bandy-legs. "Ain't he just the little boss schemer, though?"
"And did you succeed—did you get your dad out all right?" asked Max.
"I sartin did. Took a heap o' time, I tell yuh. Reckon 'twas nigh mawnin' wen he crawled through the hole, an' we lit out foh the woods."
"And since that time you've been in hiding, afraid to show yourselves in any town?" Max continued, bent on knowing all the particulars, for he had taken a decided interest in little Jim.
"Yep, we jest stuck tuh the woods," the other went on to say. "Dad, he 'membered hearin' some feller say as how these yer shells was wuth money, if so be they cud be gathered in heaps. An' so yuh see we ben gatherin' 'em right along."
"How'd you ever get feed?" asked Bandy-legs, whose mind always traveled to this very important question.