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

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He gazed meditatively out over the tops of the trees, and a big fellow called Pete said:

“Say, boy, why don’t you bane give us a song?”

Tom was about to refuse, when Mr. Durland said, “Go ahead, Tom. Sing My Old Kentucky Home, won’t you?”

Thus encouraged, Tom drew a deep breath and started the Southern song.

In the hush of the great north woods, his wonderful voice floated out in liquid melody, and the men sat entranced. Visions of childhood days, when they had sat at some distant fireside, came up before them, and more than one hardened “scrapper” felt a lump rise in his throat and his eyes grow moist.

As the song was finished there was a short silence, and then someone said in a husky voice: “Say, kid, that was great! I’ll bet your father is proud of you. I would be, if I was your dad! Sing some more, will yuh?”

Tom sang song after song, until it was almost dark, and the Scouts were forced to leave.

All the men followed the boys to the edge of the clearing, and here they parted.

“Youse b’ys has given us an iligant evenin’, bedad, and it’s us that thanks ye, although we can’t do it in none of them flowin’ speeches like the poetry fellers does. All we kin say is as how we hope ye’ll come early and often, and stay late.”