“I’ll call it Whitefoot, then,” said Don and laughed.
“Judson, are you home?” came a woman’s voice from the house.
“Just got home, Ma.”
“Well, come here; we lost two more chickens last night.”
“Thunder!” exclaimed Jud in a low voice.
“Yes, two more,” repeated Mrs. Appleton, appearing at the door of the shed. “I counted them just now, and there’s only twenty. Oh!” she exclaimed at sight of Don.
“This is Don Alden,” said Jud; “he lives up in Puddin’ Lane.”
Don found Jud’s mother a pleasant, talkative little woman who in some ways reminded him of his aunt, though she was not so old. When Jud had explained to her about their adventure with Tom Bullard and about Don’s trip to Concord she insisted that he stay and have something to eat with them.
Later as Don was about to set out with his new pet, Jud whispered to him: “I’m going to stay up to-night and catch that chicken-thief. I wish you could be here with me. Can’t you come back?”
“I don’t know,” Don replied doubtfully. “I’d like to, but there’s my aunt, you know; I don’t like to leave her alone. Have you got a gun or anything?”