Mr. Bucklin smiled indulgently.
"I think your uncle is right," he said. "And I'm willing Perce should go. Though I don't know about your starting to-night to camp out."
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Percival, as eager for the adventure as if he had been a third twin and shared the enthusiasm of his two other selves. "That will be all the fun!"
"We'll take some green corn——" said Moke.
"And new potatoes——" said Poke.
"And a sickle to cut grass——" Moke ran on.
"And make a fire of driftwood——" Poke outstripped him.
"For the steers," said Moke, finishing his own sentence, and not Poke's.
"To roast 'em," concluded Poke, referring to the potatoes and green corn, and not to the steers.
"It'll be just grand!" Percival exclaimed. "May we, father? The tide will turn about daylight; we'll have our breakfast on the beach, and be ready to go to work; and we'll haul two big heaps on the shore, one for us and one for them, and leave 'em till they're ready to draw away and spread on the land. May we, father?"