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"I do," said Harry unhesitatingly. "What!" Shipley and Sward started so forcibly that their heads came together with a bump. "So the old skinflint is goin' to give us his down apples, is he?" wheezed Shipley. "Well, he ain't givin' much, but we'll come over tonight and get 'em. It's a wonder the old hypocrite would let us gather 'em on Sunday night, ain't it, Benjamin?" he addressed his companion. Billy reached down and gripped the old man's arm. "You found that stuff and didn't so much as tell Spencer?" he cried indignantly..
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Then, as the first note of a night-bird came soft and fluted from a distant willow copse, Billy took his hand and drew him up along the corduroy road stretching through the shadows. "You bet it is," cried Billy. "I want'a know how you got them ink blots on your good clothes. Have you been a'wearin' 'em to school?" asked Mrs. Wilson. "I have no piano in this cabin, sir," she answered, without raising her eyes. "And I have no heart to sing without music.".
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