Don made his way dejectedly to the little house in Pudding Lane. He could just picture his aunt’s face when he told her the news. He opened the door and with head down stepped inside; the next instant, when he lifted his eyes, he could hardly believe what he saw. There, standing beside his aunt near the fireplace, resplendent in a captain’s uniform was—David Hollis! His arm was round Aunt Martha’s waist, and she was laughing and crying both at the same time. And there in one corner of the room, looking almost as he had looked when Don had first seen him, was Glen Drake!
“Donald, my lad!”
Don felt the breath almost squeezed from his body, for his uncle was a big man. And then he felt the bones in his hand crunch as the old trapper greeted him.
“Oh, this seems almost too good to be true!” Aunt Martha was saying.
For the next fifteen minutes questions and answers followed one another in quick succession. Then at last Don asked gravely: “Uncle David, where did you come from? I never saw you in the column.”
David Hollis laughed heartily. “I saw you, though; my company led the column. But you were so interested in our general that you didn’t have eyes for anybody else.”
“Never mind, Don,” said Glen; “he’s a fine man to look at, the general is.”
“What a hard time you’ve had here!” said Uncle David. “Your aunt has been telling me. My boy, I’m proud of you for the way you’ve acted and especially for the way you kept the Redcoats from getting that stuff in the cellar.”
“Yes, Don, you sure played the fox that time,” said Glen. “And now that the Redcoats have gone, I’m thinking you and I and that other boy will be able to do a little trapping in the woods together.”
“Now, David,” said Aunt Martha, “what are we going to do with the stuff in the cellar? I don’t want it to remain there; truly I don’t.”