“Here’s your father, Fred,” called George loudly. “Don’t you want to see him?”
Fred started violently at these words. He stared ahead of him and then suddenly gave vent to a wild shriek.
“Dad!” he cried and rushing pell mell down the gradual incline he threw himself upon the smaller of the two “tramps.”
“Why it’s Mr. Button and Mr. Sanders,” exclaimed Grant in surprise. “Where do you suppose they came from?”
“All dressed up to look like tramps,” added John. “What do you suppose they are trying to do?”
“Play a joke on us, I guess,” laughed Grant. “Lets go down and see them.”
They soon joined the little group gathered underneath the tree and a happy gathering it was.
“What do you think of these two tramps, Grant?” inquired George when greetings had been exchanged all around.
“What do you think of a boy who would hit his poor old father in the back of the neck with two big pillows?” laughed Mr. Sanders. “That strikes me as pretty rough treatment.”
“It surely is,” agreed Grant. “We usually take him down and duck him when he gets fresh that way.”