“Here they come with tired feet,
Mosquiter-bites, and a wish to eat.”
He got up slow, kind of one piece of him at a time, it looked, and then said:
“Hungry, eh? I bet you. What’ll you eat? Will you have beefsteak, chicken-pie, strawberry short-cake, noodel soup, or bacon and eggs?” He reached around and scratched the back of his neck and winked3 one eye at the house. “If I was four boys with hollows into their stummicks I’d pick out bacon and eggs, I would. ’Cause why? ’Cause that’s what they’re goin’ to get. Now, each one of you take your choice.”
“N-n-name over those things again, please,” Mark asked him.
Uncle did it as patient as could be. Mark thought careful, going over every one in his mind, then, as solemn as a screech-owl, he says, “I guess b-b-bacon and eggs look best to me.”
Uncle nodded and looked at the rest of us. We spoke4 up for bacon and eggs right off without thinking over the other things, which seemed to satisfy Uncle Hieronymous all right.
“Will you have ’em baked, b’iled, fried, or stewed5?”
“Fried, p-p-please,” says Mark. “Once on the top and once on the b-bottom.”
The rest of us took the same, and uncle went in to start a fire and begin his cooking. While he was at it we walked over to the little tumbledown barn off at a corner of the clearing. It looked as if something big and powerful had come along and given it a push, because it was all squee-geed. Boards were off, and what shingles6 were left stayed on the roof because they wanted to and not because they had to. Mark peeked7 inside.
“W-what’s that?” he wanted to know.
The rest of us crowded around and then pushed inside. It was pretty dim in there, but as soon as our eyes got used to it we could see a long white thing laying across the beams above our heads.
“Looks like a boat,” says I.
Tallow Martin lighted a match and held it up so we could see. Sure enough it was a boat—a canoe.
“W-wonder what it’s doing here,” says Mark.
“Let’s ask Uncle Hieronymous,” I says.
So we went off to the house, where uncle was standing8 over the stove, breaking an egg into a frying-pan.
“’Tain’t ready yet,” says he, as we came into the kitchen.
“We was just out in the barn,” I says, “and we saw a canoe up on the beams. Does it belong to you?”
“Well, now, lemme see. Does that there curi’us leetle boat b’long to me or not? Now, does it? If you was guessin’ how would you guess?”
“I’d guess it did,” I says.
“Then,” says he, “you’d be wrong, for it don’t. At any rate, it didn’t, last time I looked at it. But canoes is peculiar9 critters—no tellin’ what it’s up and done regardin’ its ownership in nigh onto two months.”
“Can we use it, uncle?”
“Use it? You don’t mean git into the thing on the water? Into that there tipsy, oncertain, wabbly leetle boat? Would you dast?”
“S-s-sure,” says Mark. “I learned to paddle one two years ago.”
“Then,” says uncle, “I guess nobody’ll objec’ serious to fussin’ around in it. Feller left it here two years ago and hain’t never called for it. Go ahead, boys, and do your worst.”
The egg had been sizzling away in the frying-pan. Uncle poked10 at it with a fork, and then, quicker than a wink2, he took hold of the handle of the pan, gave it a little flip11, and, would you believe it, that egg turned over just as neat and settled down on its face. I heard Mark chuckle12. Uncle looked sort of surprised.
“D-d-do you always turn them like that?” Mark asked.
“How would a feller turn an egg?” uncle wanted to know.
“Well,” says Mark, “after seeing it done like that I don’t know’s there’s any way quite so g-g-good. Anyhow, n-n-none so interestin’.”
In about five minutes the eggs, with fried potatoes and bacon and coffee, were ready, and we put them where they were wanting to go. Uncle gathered up what was left, and when he had shut the door tight he called Martha and Mary and gave it to them.
“Can we get the canoe down now?” I asked uncle.
“You can git it down any time you want to exceptin’ yestiddy. I don’t allow nobody to do anything yestiddy around this house. No, sir. Not a single, solitary13 thing. That’s how set in my ways I am.”
We all went out to the barn, uncle bringing a ladder with him. He set it up against a beam, and in no time the canoe was down on the ground.
“Kind of a slimpsy-lookin’ thing,” he says, disgusted-like.
“Where’s the p-p-p-paddles?” Mark wanted to know.
“Under the bed,” says uncle, and I ran to get them.
We hauled the canoe down and put it in the water, but right away it began to leak, so we dragged it out again and asked uncle for some paint. He said green paint was all he had. Mark allowed that green paint wasn’t exactly suitable for a canoe, but any paint was better than no paint, so uncle got a can and a brush off a shelf in the kitchen and brought them out to us.
We put the canoe up on a couple of logs and started in to paint, but after we had been at it a couple of minutes Uncle Hieronymous shook his head and grunted14. Then he recited another poem:
“Don’t think that that’s the way to paint,
Because, my friends, it surely hain’t.”
Then he took the brush away from Tallow, who had it at that particular minute, and told us to clear out while he did a job of painting that would be a credit to the state of Michigan, even if the Governor were to come along to see it, with all the legislature marching in circles around his hat-brim.
We decided15 to explore down-stream this time. Just as we were starting out from the house Billy came driving along with a fat man on the seat beside him. Not just a big man, but a man that was as fat as Mark Tidd. Billy called to us and waved his hand, and we waved back. Then we started out.
“C-c-couldn’t mistake that feller on a d-d-dark night,” says Mark.
“It ain’t apt to matter whether we do or not,” I told him.
“N-n-n-never can tell. He’s the man that’s comin’ to help out Collins. Wish I knew what those letters and figures in that telegram were about.”
“Oh, come on, and forget about that. Let’s find out what kind of country is down that way.”
To go down-stream we had to take a path through heavy underbrush. Most of the time we had to force our way because the bushes were trying to cover the path. It wasn’t very light, and it was boggy16. About a hundred yards ahead we came to a little brook17 that emptied into the Middle Branch, with two saplings across it for a bridge. I was going ahead. No sooner had I stepped my foot off the far end of the bridge than something began to thrash around and rustle18 the reeds right under my feet, and all of a sudden a little animal about as big as a dog, or maybe a cat, jumped up and whisked out of sight. He scared me almost out of my wits.
“What was that?” says I.
“That,” says Mark, “was a f-f-full-grown g-grizzly bear.”
“G’wan!” says I. “There ain’t no bears around here.”
“Maybe not,” says Mark, in a whisper, “but there’s something else.” He pointed19, and there, across the stream, not more than a couple of hundred feet off, were two little deer and a big one.
Well, it startled all of us. Somehow until then we didn’t realize we really were in the woods—the real, genuine, wild woods where big animals might be. I thought over what I’d said about bears and sort of changed my mind.
“You can’t tell,” I whispered back; “maybe there is bears.”
The deer smelled us, I guess, and off they went, running with the funniest, jumpiest gait you ever saw.
“Did you notice,” asked Mark, “that he asked w-w-who we were?”
“Who asked?” Tallow wanted to know.
“The f-fat man in Billy’s wagon20. I could see him asking Billy.”
“Huh!” says I, and on we went.
After a while the ground got higher, and about two miles down we came to a place where the banks of the stream were maybe forty or fifty feet high. Then the stream widened out into a big pool and curved off to the right. It was a dandy place. We sat down, with our feet hanging over, and looked at the water. I noticed some black spots that moved around here and there toward the lower end of the pool where there wasn’t any current, and after a while I got it through my head they were fish—trout. Great big fellows they were. I showed them to the other three, and we sat looking at them, watching how they stayed right around that spot, having a sort of fish meeting, I guess.
The sun was shining bright right down on the water, so that we could see to the bottom where the current didn’t make a ripple21. It was pretty deep in spots, too, where the water rushing down had scooped22 out a hole. It swept around that corner faster than anywhere above.
“Here comes somebody,” says Tallow, and, sure enough, down-stream waded24 a man, casting away just like we had seen Collins do in the morning. He was an old man—we could tell by the way he carried his shoulders—and he looked tall. He came along, paying no attention to anything but his casting, wading25 right in the middle of the stream. We watched him without saying anything until he was almost under us.
“If he don’t look out he’s going to wade23 right into that hole,” says Plunk Martin, but nobody thought to do anything except Mark, and he yelled down:
“L-l-look out, mister. You’re goin’ to s-s-step into a hole.”
The man stopped, looked up, took another step, and sort of stumbled. Then he recovered his balance and waded to shore, but his landing-net had got loose from his belt and was floating down without his noticing it.
“You’ve lost your net,” Tallow yelled.
The old gentleman started after it, but the water got deeper and the current dragged at him pretty strong. He was going to keep on, though, until Mark called to him again.
“It’ll lodge26 right there in the b-b-brush-heap,” he says.
We all scrambled27 down the bank to where the old gentleman was. He smiled at us pleasant-like, and said: “Much obliged, boys. I’d have got a good ducking if it hadn’t been for you, and a ducking is no joke at my age.”
“There,” says Mark, “your net’s c-c-caught. Go get it, Binney.”
I scrambled around the shore to the brush-pile and crawled out to where the net was. It was easy to get.
“Camping around here?” asked the old gentleman. I guess he was close to seventy, because his hair and mustache were white as could be. He was a nice-looking old gentleman, with blue eyes that looked like they were twinkling at you, and a big nose. Not a homely28 nose, but a big one that looked as though he amounted to something.
“We’re staying with my uncle Hieronymous,” I told him.
He sat down on the bank to talk with us. It turned out his name was Macmillan and that he was a lawyer in Ludington, which is about forty or fifty miles farther, and on the shore of Lake Michigan. Right off when he said he was a lawyer Mark was interested. I could see it by the way he squinted29 his little eyes and pulled on his fat cheek.
“M-m-mister Macmillan,” says Mark, “I want to show you s-somethin’.”
“All right, my son, go ahead.”
“I want to f-f-find out what it is, because it may b-be important.”
“Let’s have a look, then.”
Mark took a paper out of his pocket and gave it to Mr. Macmillan. “I’ve been wonderin’ w-w-what kind of a cipher30 that is,” says he, “or w-w-what it is if it isn’t a cipher. It m-m-means somethin’.”
“‘The S. 40 of the N. W. ? of Sec. 6, Town 1 north, R. 4 west.’ Hum. Does look mysterious, doesn’t it. But, my son, like a lot of things that look mysterious, it isn’t so a bit when you know about it. That is nothing but the description of land. You know there has to be some way of describing every farm, no matter what its size or shape may be, so that everybody will know just where to find it. Well, this cipher, as you call it, describes a farm of forty acres that is the northwest part of Section Six of township number one west of range seventeen. That’s all. Did you think it was telling where hidden treasure was hidden?”
Mark shook his head. “Maybe ’tis,” says he, and all the afternoon we couldn’t get another word out of him.
The rest of us talked with Mr. Macmillan and listened to stories about where he’d fished and hunted, and all about how this part of the state used to be a great pine forest that was butchered off and floated down-stream to the mills. I tell you it was interesting. It began to get late before he was half through, and he had to start for the place where his team was hitched31.
“If you come to Ludington,” says he, “drop in to see me.”
We said we surely would.
“And you, young man,” says he to Mark, “when you have any more mysteries to clear up just let me know.”
Mark nodded as sober as could be. Anybody would think he expected to have a couple of mysteries every day.
Mr. Macmillan went off, and we turned back home. As soon as we got in sight of the house we saw uncle had company.
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1
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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2
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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3
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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4
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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5
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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6
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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7
peeked
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| v.很快地看( peek的过去式和过去分词 )；偷看；窥视；微露出 | |
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8
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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9
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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10
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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11
flip
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| vt.快速翻动；轻抛；轻拍；n.轻抛；adj.轻浮的 | |
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12
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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13
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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14
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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15
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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16
boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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17
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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18
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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19
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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21
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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22
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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23
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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24
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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26
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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27
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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28
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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29
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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30
cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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31
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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