"Of course, Dug," frowned Hugh, impatiently. "Don't stand talking there. Come on and fill, can't you. They've probably their wood-house crammed by this time, anyway."
"Oh no," said the girl, turning to Hugh. "It's so far, sir. We can't lug more nor ten baskets a day."
"Far!—where?" still questioned Douglas, as Hugh went to work again.
"You'll see when the fog lifts. The red cottage by the brook."
"What! not 'way down by the mill?"
"Yes, sir," said the girl, as she shook the basket, and piled some more chips on top. "Come, Dick, this is your side," and off they started in the light rain that was beginning to fall.
"Poor little things," said Douglas, "I haven't the heart to take their wood," and he threw some chips indifferently into the cart. "Oh, Hugh, I've a plan," and his face lit up. "Let's give 'em a lift—this cartful; will you?"
Hugh deliberated. It was raining. The bonfire might as well be given up. As the cart was filled, the mill children might as well have it. He only wished it had been his plan instead of Douglas's.
It seemed but an instant later that the chips were shaking merrily in the cart, as the boys started to overtake the little laborers; and they were not entirely quieted when both children were carefully lifted to a seat and told to hold on firmly.
"Ain't it splendid!" whispered Dick Ransom, loudly, to his sister. "Now I can play on me bones and hunt fire-crackers all day; can't I, Jinny?" almost losing his hold in delight at thought of a holiday. "Oh, ain't it splendid! We're 'goin' as fast as Dr. Phisterer, ain't we, sis?"