"Where is it, Uncle Saunders? You'll tell me? Please. I won't tell a soul—not even Ran. You know I won't if I promise."
But no; Uncle Saunders shut up like a clam—as tight as the high-barn door.
"Well, if I guess, will you tell me? Give me three guesses: all right? Is it the thick pines the other side of the creek where the old mine used to be?"
Uncle Saunders shook his head.
"Well, is it the big marsh with the high willows, and the old wagon-track?"
"You know, boy, I ain't goin' to teck my horses—my Black George and Blifil into dat mash!"
"Well—? (strung out very long). Is it—? Let me see—I've got only one more guess—haven't I?"
"I ain't give you nothin'," said Uncle Saunders, disappointingly. "You jist guessin' around heah."
But Bob insisted that by letting him guess twice he had agreed to the plan; and, in fact, it did look so.
"Well, go on, den," said Uncle Saunders at last.