"Yes," said Bob, "we're going on a 'possum-hunt to-morrow night, and we want you and your best dog."
"You shall have me! I r-remember last year when first I came I heard the dogs on the mountain, but then I had no kind fr-riends to make me the invitation."
"It's a little early, but we want to be sure to have one before Mr. Wendell goes."
"You go soon?"
Von Rittenheim's interest was only a courteous expression of concern, but John, fretted by Hilda's alternate encouragement and coldness, was tormented by his nerves, and not in command of his judgment. He saw in the Baron's question a malicious pleasure in his prospective departure.
"Yes," he said, "I must go soon, I'm afraid. You're playing in luck these days, old man. You gain what I lose—and the close season for moonshiners is coming on, now that the corn is ripe."
Hilda, who did not understand a word he said, laughed softly, as if in amusement at his wit. Von Rittenheim, who had not been able to follow the colloquialisms, frowned at "moonshining," which rang out for his ears above all else. Sydney and Bob looked with horror at the sneering face before them.
"John," said Sydney, sternly, "you forget yourself strangely."
As they were about to start she leaned from her horse and gave her hand to Friedrich.
"You have much to forgive me," she said.