“Nothing much. Say, what you going to do to-morrow?”
“Same answer, Harry—nothing much.”
“Then let’s go after chestnuts.”
“Chestnuts! There aren’t any left!” declared Bob. “The blight has killed them all.”
“Not all,” declared Ned. “I know a grove on Storm Mountain where there are still a few good trees left. I found it by accident this summer. I’ve been saving it.”
“Good enough!” cried Bob. “I’m with you. Chestnuts are great, but I didn’t think there were any left. Sure I’ll go.”
“All right—Harry and I’ll stop for you early in the morning. There’s likely to be a hard frost to-night and that will open the burrs,” spoke Ned.
Bob thought of the frost and the holes the Italian was digging to plant his monkey nuts. But the holes seemed to be below the effect of anything but a hard and deep frost, and that kind didn’t come so early in the season.
“I’ll be ready,” promised the young detective, “Is the chestnut grove anywhere near Hiram Beegle’s log cabin?”
“Not so far away—why?” asked Harry.