“‘Oh! Ugh-huh? Round,’ says Nat, just barely waking up.
“‘How do you know it’s round?’ demands Miss Baker.
“‘All right,’ says Nat. ‘It’s square, then. I don’t mean to argue about it!’”
“Aw, I never!” cried Nat, as the others shouted their appreciation of the story. “That’s just one of Ned’s yarns.”
With similar “carryings-on” they lightened the rough way to the sawmill camp. The last mile they had to walk, leaving the Firebird at a farmer’s place. There was no such thing as taking the automobile to the camp.
“I hope Tom Moran is here,” said Dorothy, again and again, to her friend, Tavia. “But I feel as though we were due to have another disappointment.”
“Oh, I hope not,” groaned Tavia.
The boys would not keep to the wood road, but scrambled over stumps and brambles, raising the hue and cry after timid rabbits, starting an old cock partridge now and then, and chasing chipmunks along the fences.
“I’d love to have a woodchuck bake,” Abe Perriton said. “The kids say they’ve found several woodchuck holes up near the Rouse place.”
“Joe and Roger, you mean?” asked Dorothy, to whom Abe was speaking.