“O, Winthrop!—brother!” and the two girls came hurrying down to the river’s edge. Winthrop tried to toss on his coat, but did not succeed before the stains on his poor, smarting back told the story to his sister’s anxious eye.
Of course the picnic was ended for that day. The whole party hurried to the wagon and drove home. On the way, Winthrop begged Mr. Rowan not to have either of his late captors prosecuted, or punished in any way.
“I’m satisfied,” he said, “if they are.”
“Well, I’m not!” burst out Mort suddenly, “and I sha’n’t be, till I get square with you somehow!”
The girls turned and looked at him in new amazement and terror. But Winthrop understood him better.
“All right, old fellow,” he replied simply, holding out his hand to the other.
Mort grasped it and said no more.
“Good story, father!” called out Tom, whose voice, whether for approval or criticism, was never wanting. “I’d like to know how Mort got square with him, though.”
Mr. Percival laughed as he rose. “That is not of so much consequence. In such a case, ‘the readiness is all.’ Does that finish the paper, Mr. Editor?”
“It does,” said Selborne gravely. “And the publication of the ‘Tri-Weekly Chichagoff Decade’ is suspended until further notice.”