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

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Don trotted up and down and regarded the old man, with one paw raised and his head cocked inquiringly on one side, confident of welcome.

“Waal, I’ll be durned!” said the old fellow scratching his head in perplexity. “If that dog ain’t the image of my Rover what got drowned down in the river yonder a year ago come Monday! Seems like he might almost be Rover’s sperret; that is, ef I was to believe in sech things. Come here, doggie, an’ ’splain yerself! One minnit ye ain’t there an’ next minnit ye air! Whar be ye from?” and he laid his hand gently on the big dog’s head.

Just then the boys came into the cleared space in front of the cabin and saluted the old man courteously.

“Waal, you be pow’ful fine youngsters,” he said, fairly beaming with delight at the unexpected visit. “Be this your doggie?”

“You bet your life he is!” Bob asserted, proudly. “Jack here is his real owner, but we all have a part interest in him. We come from the Boy Scouts’ camp about a mile back,” he went on to explain, “and we’re bound for the bluestone quarries.”