“Look at those two fellows!” said Decatur to Somers, laughing. “They are afraid we will get into mischief, and they are following us—to protect us, I suppose!”
Somers, too, could not help laughing at the idea of little Pickle, who was not much more than four feet high, imagining he could protect anything. Macdonough was, indeed, a stalwart fellow, and might be of service. Somers called out, half joking:
“So you young gentlemen are dogging our footsteps, so as to take care of us.”
Macdonough did not know what to say, but Pickle, coming up the path at a run, answered in his shrill boyish treble:
“Yes, sir. We thought something might happen——”
“And you’d be there with that brawny arm of yours to help us out, eh?” asked Decatur. “Very kind of you, I’m sure; so come along. After we get the letters at the tavern we will have some supper, and will get on board ship before ‘lights out.’”
As they were toiling up the slippery path Decatur remarked to Somers:
“This seems like a safe enough sort of business, but yet I wish I had brought my dirk with me instead of my sword.”
Somers said nothing, but in his heart he echoed the wish. He, too, was only armed with his sword.
“I’m a prudent fellow, I am,” cried little Pickle, wagging his head triumphantly. “I brought my dirk; I always wear it, Captain Somers, and here it is.”