Dan could hardly believe his eyes, and
even Godfrey seemed a little doubtful.
"Is that you, Dannie?" asked the latter.
"You're just a shoutin'," was the reply.
"Nobody ain't thar with you, I reckon," said Godfrey.
"No, I'm all by myself. But be you sartin that's you, pap?"
"In course I am, an' I've been a waitin' an' a watchin' fur yer. I'll
bring you over. You're an ongrateful an' ondutiful boy to leave your
poor ole pap, what's fit the Yankees an' worked so hard to bring you
up like a gentleman's son had oughter be brung up, out here in the
cane so long all by hisself."
"Why, pap, I didn't know you was here," said Dan.
Godfrey walked briskly along the shore until he reached a little
thicket of bushes into which he plunged out of sight. He appeared
again almost immediately, dragging behind him a small lead-colored
canoe which Dan recognized the moment he saw it. It was Don Gordon's
canoe, the one he used to pick up his dead and wounded ducks when he
was shooting over his decoys. It was a beautiful little craft, and
Dan had often wished that he could call it his own. It was one thing
that made him hate Don and Bert so cordially, and he had often told
himself that when he was ready to carry out the threats he had so
often made, that canoe should be one of the first things to suffer.
Pages:
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94