“No; but I’ve got a hickory club, and I can throw a stone pretty straight.”
“I’d like to sit up with you,” said Don.
CHAPTER VIII
THE BOYS SET A TRAP
The next day was fair and warm, but on the following day the wind changed, and the drab, suffering town of Boston was shrouded in a thick blanket of fog. Don rolled over in bed and stretched and yawned.
“Donald,” came the voice of his aunt, “it’s high time you were down here to breakfast. You’re awake, ’cause I hear the bed a-creaking. Come on now; Mrs. Lancaster is coming to-day.”
Don lay and blinked for a moment; then he sprang out of bed. If Mrs. Lancaster were coming, probably she would stay all night—she usually did. Don had almost given up hope of going to Jud’s and of sitting up with him to catch the skunk or whatever was stealing his chickens; but now, if Mrs. Lancaster were coming, he would not mind leaving his aunt for a while in the evening.
At breakfast Aunt Martha said that her visitor would remain overnight; and when Don had told her what he wanted to do she objected at first, as he knew she would, and then consented after he had promised her to keep far away from any skunk that might come after Jud’s chickens.
At evening when Don set out for Hog Alley the fog was still heavy. The houses on the opposite side of Pudding Lane, which was one of the narrowest streets in town, could hardly be seen. And on the Common even the scarlet-coated soldiers were almost invisible at a distance of twenty yards.
“I don’t know but what Ma was right,” said Jud when Don reached the shabby little house in Hog Alley. “There was a skunk round here last night—a big fellow too, from the smell of him. But I had the hen-house locked tight and all the chickens inside; so he didn’t get a one. I was wishing you’d been here though—are you going to stay to-night?”
“For a while, if you want me.”