"Fine and dandy," answered Harry cheerfully. "You must come and see him; I think he gets rather dull sometimes. I've got some more white mice. That makes sixteen. I wish I knew what to do with them. Dad says I'll have to kill them, but I just couldn't do it."
"Why not turn them loose?" asked Roy.
Harry giggled.
"I tried that and some of them came back and went up to John's room and he found one in his boot in the morning. He was terribly mad about it. John's very short tempered, you know."
"He must be," laughed Roy.
"Yes. And then yesterday he found two in the grain-chest and told Dad. I don't think it was nice of him to tell, do you? And Dad says I'll have to kill them."
"I tell you what," said Roy. "You keep them until warm weather and we'll take them off somewhere and let them loose. I don't believe they'd ever get back again."
"But they might die!"
"I don't believe so. Anyway, they'd have a fighting chance, and if you kill them they won't have. See?"
"John said I ought to buy an owl," said Harry disgustedly, "and feed them to him. As though I would!"