Ernest got to his feet after the stove-pipe was snugly set with a grunt of satisfaction.
“Frank said we’d better wait for half an hour before we started a fire to let the mortar dry. The sun’s pretty hot. Maybe it won’t take quite so long today.”
“Let’s play tag while we wait,” suggested Katy.
“Bet I can roll you girls off that barrel,” said Sherm with mischief in his eye.
“Bet you can’t.”
“I’ll help you, Sherm.”
“No you don’t, Ernest—Sherm said he could—he’s got to do it alone.”
Chicken Little perked up at the prospect of a tussle. “I’ll sit the other way, Katy. You and Gertie brace your feet against the ground—just as hard. Move the barrel a little and I can put mine against the chopping logs; there that’s fine.”
Sherm was about fifteen feet away and he made a dash to stop these preparations. But the little girls were planted firmly before he could interfere.
He was a stout lad but he found the rolling process more difficult than he had imagined. The other boys hovered around eager to take a hand and offering unasked suggestions.