“What’s the trouble with you?” asked Dick, for he easily made out that something ailed the man.
“I’m sick,” was the half moaned reply.
“Sick,” repeated the boy, looking at him attentively. “Gee! You do look bad, for a fact. What can I do for you?”
“If you would do me a favor, go out to the barn back of the building. You’ll find my team there. There’s a couple of blankets in the wagon and a number of gunny-sacks. Bring them in here so I can make a bed and lie down,” said the man, slowly and with much difficulty.
Dick put his bundle of food on the floor and hastened to do as the stranger had requested.
He found the team—a pair of stout horses hitched to a large, covered wagon—just as it had been led into the deserted and mildewed barn and left standing there.
With the aid of a match or two, a supply of which Dick from habit always carried about with him, he climbed into the wagon and found the things the man wanted.
The only other articles the boy noticed in the vehicle were a couple of empty bushel baskets, a sack half filled with oats, a horse bucket, a long whip and a small wicker hamper.
Dick carried the bags and blankets into the house and spread them out so as to form a bed.
“There,” he said, in his cheery tones, “you can lie down now. If there’s anything else I can do for you, let me know.”