"In a few days. But you fellows can't leave then! No, sir-ee! We're going to have some fun after all this work is over, and mother and I will want you to stay and loaf for a while. I can show you where to get some dandy photos of nesting birds, and I know where a pair of red foxes have a kennel every spring. You can take pictures of the vixen and her cubs, if you go about it carefully at the right time of day."
Arthur's eyes shone with pleasant anticipation. He was delighted with the prospect of getting some good photographs to show the boys in Pioneer Camp. But Tom, though he also looked forward eagerly to the reunion of the troop at camp, shook his head with regret at the thought of leaving the farm. Ralph had told him more about the dispute over the boundary, and about his father's dreams of finding iron ore on the land; Tom was interested, for Ralph's sake, in having the land surveyed and examined.
"Why don't you go to bed now, too?" asked Tom, when they had finished talking about animal photography. "You need the rest, I know, Ralph."
"I'm going, in a few minutes, just as soon as I finish this letter.
Trot along, boys!"
"Well, good night," grunted Arthur, as he disappeared into his room.
"Good night."
"Don't be too long at it, Ralph."
"No, I won't. Good night, old top."
His gaze followed Tom as his sleepy guest slouched out of the room, and when he heard Tom's heavy footsteps on the creaking stairs, he took up his pen once more. Propping his head with his other hand, and shading his eyes from the lamplight, he wrote on. In a few minutes the springs of Tom's bed creaked violently as he dropped down on it, and soon the sound of his heavy breathing in the room above showed that he was dead to the world.
Ralph's eyelids began to droop drowsily. In vain he struggled to keep them open. He put his head down on the table, with a sigh, and before he realized it he was asleep.