“Was he wild?” whispered Wally.
“Blessed if I know. He just laughed in a queer way, until Norah stuck up for him, and then he looked grave. ‘I’m lucky to have one friend,’ he said, and walked out of the tent. You’re a set of goats!” finished Jim comprehensively.
“Well, I’m not ashamed of what I said, anyhow!” Norah answered indignantly. She elevated her tip-tilted nose, and walked away to where the Hermit was gathering sticks, into which occupation she promptly entered. The boys looked at each other.
“Well, I am—rather,” Harry said. He disappeared into the scrub, returning presently with a log of wood as heavy as he could drag. Wally, seeing his idea, speedily followed suit, and Jim, after a stare, copied their example. They worked so hard that by the time the Hermit and Norah had the fire alight, quite a respectable stack of wood greeted the eye of the master of the camp. He looked genuinely pleased.
“Well, you are kind chaps,” he said. “That will save me wood-carting for many a day, and it is a job that bothers my old back.”
“We’re very glad to get it for you, sir,” Jim blurted, a trifle shamefacedly. A twinkle came into the Hermit’s eyes as he looked at him.
“That’s all square, Jim,” he said quietly, and without any more being said the boys felt relieved. Evidently this Hermit was not a man to bear malice, even if he did overhear talk that wasn’t meant for him.
“Well,” said the Hermit, breaking a somewhat awkward silence, “it’s about time we heard the dusky Billy, isn’t it?”
“Quite time, I reckon,” Jim replied. “Lazy young beggar!”
“Well, the billy’s not boiling yet, although it’s not far off it.”