"More," he said, weakly.
"More! My gracious!" said Tim, in the wildest spirits—"more! He wants more, Philly. Hain't et or drinked so much as this for a month, I sh'd think. Can he have some more, mum?" reaching out a claw-like hand with the tin cup, which went back brimming full.
Pretty soon the boys began to talk.
"See there!—quick! That's a squirrel, boys—a reg'lar squirrel. Ever see one before?"
"Trout in that brook, bet you a cent, boys! Won't the rest o' the fellers stare when we tell 'em what we've seen?"
"Are there more nuts 'n that"—pointing to a heavily laden tree which they were passing—"in the place we're going to?"
"Humph!" returned Farmer Hurlbut, the sight of whose ponderous fist had impressed his wild little crew as much perhaps as his kindness and generosity; "there's more nuts up in the north pastur', where we're a-goin', than you'll see all the way put together."
In about an hour the north pastur' was reached, and the boys tumbled out of the wagon amid a jumble of sweet-fern and pennyroyal, and other sweet woodsy-smelling things.
Aunt Sereny found a comfortable seat near by, and fell to knitting as usual, and Farmer Hurlbut, going to a thicket close at hand, pulled out two long stout poles, which he had prepared for this very occasion, and laid away a week before.
Then Jim Bowker and Sammy Jones, two of the biggest boys, were sent up two of the best trees, and once well up, they lay flat along the great branches, and plied the poles vigorously. The glossy brown nuts and prickly burrs came flying "fast and furious."