Cato picked out two of the largest and straightest of the discarded switches, and, gazing disconsolately at his ruined waistcoat, strode after them.
Mr. Wyeth and his companion had seen the boys coming, and had halted at the bridge. The merchant was a short, fat man, with a round rosy face, like a ripe New Jersey apple. As he watched the little party walking slowly across the meadow his face took on a quizzical expression, and then wrinkled up into a smile. As they came nearer he burst into a laugh.
The other man, who was larger and quite as florid, joined him. "Well, bless my soul," he said, leaning forward in his saddle, his sides shaking.
The twins by this time were within speaking-distance. They did not smile, but still holding each other's hands bowed quite gravely.
"Mr. Wyeth, your presence, sir," they said.
"In the name of St. George," said the fat man, "what have you been doing?"
"We fell into the water," said the twins, together.
"You'll pardon our appearance," went on George, "but we are glad to see you here at Stanham Mills, I do assure you, sir. I—I suppose this is our Uncle Daniel? Is it not?"
This was said with such a fine imitation of Uncle Nathan's courtliest manner, that Mr. Wyeth could hardly repress another burst of laughter.
But Mr. Daniel Frothingham—for it was none other—gravely lifted his hat, and said: "Young gentlemen, I salute you. The honor is mine, I do declare."