“Shut your eyes and keep them shut,” Tom called up to him; “keep them shut till I tell you.”
“Wait till Tom says peek-a-boo!” called Connie.
Tom gathered some twigs that were none too dry, and pouring a little kerosene over them, kindled a small fire about six feet from the tree.
“Can you see down here all right?”
“Not with my eyes shut,” Garry answered.
“Well, open them,” said Tom, “and see if the leaves keep you from seeing.”
“What he means,” called Doc, “is, have you an unobstructed view?”
There was always this tendency to make fun of Tom’s soberness.
“Wait till I look in my pocket,” called Garry. “Sure, I’ve got one.”
“Shut your eyes again and keep them shut,” commanded Tom.