“Now what do you suppose he wants?” growled Hal. “And what’s he got in the pail?”
“He’s probably returning your compass and fog-horn,” said Bee. “His conscience has troubled him.”
But when Bill Glass drew near it became evident that the pail held not a compass and a fog-horn, but clams!
“Howdy do, mates?” he greeted, coming to a stand and setting the pail down. “Thought maybe you’d like a few clams. I been diggin’ an’ got ’bout a bushel of ’em. Fond o’ clams, be ye?”
“Very,” responded Jack politely. “How much are they?”
“Oh, well, I won’t make no charge today. If you like ’em you just let me know an’ I’ll fetch some more some day an’ you can pay me for ’em. I usually gets thirty cents for that many.”
“We’d rather pay for them, thank you,” said Hal stiffly.
“You can’t,” replied Bill with a smile. “They ain’t for sale today. They be a present from a neighbor, mates. I’ll take ’em up and dump ’em somewheres so’s I can have the bucket.” But he didn’t start at once, after Bee and Jack had somewhat embarrassedly thanked him, but stood looking at the excavations they had dug around the tree. That is, his good eye looked at the hole in the ground and his glass eye gazed dreamily out to sea.
“I knowed you’d do that afore long,” he observed presently.
“Do what?” demanded Hal truculently.