Читать книгу The Boy Scout Pathfinders; Or, Jack Danby's Best Adventure онлайн

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“Shure, an’ it’s glad I’ll be to do what I kin fur yez,” said Flannigan, scratching his head. “But, bedad, it’s a poor time o’ the year to see a loggin’ camp. Most of the brave b’ys is in town or scattered around further north. At this time o’ the year ’tis little we do besides nickin’ the trees for the fall cut. Howiver, if I’m not mistaken, here come the b’ys now fur supper, an’ if ye don’t mind rough table manners, we’ll soon have a bite to eat. Here, cook!” as that individual bustled past, “set up an extra table in the bunk house for the b’ys here. More’s the pity, it’s not much we’ve got to offer ye, but such as it is, there’s never any lack, and I guess ye kin make out.”

By this time the lumbermen had arrived at the house, and the boys thought they had never seen a stronger or more healthy set of men. The sun had tanned their bearded faces to a deep brown hue, and as they dropped their heavy axes into a corner, it was easy to see that each one was as strong as two ordinary men.

They all muttered a “How d’ye do” to Mr. Durland, and took their seats around the rough table in silence.