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Carlstrom was a Swede, with a big black moustache whose ends stuck straight out in the air. He looked exactly like a stylish colonel to say the least—a very cross colonel though! No, there was no use going to the stable.,No amount of urging or surprise questions sufficed to break his silence and the little party came to the lower camp before he had opened his lips.,Involuntarily Bob gasped. He recognized what it was that Miguel had taken from the hole and what probably was also in the odd-shaped package he had been carrying.,The distant torrent's melancholy note,The talk went on mostly about the Canyon. Bob noticed, however, that Jerry King took very little part in the conversation. He didn’t seem exactly unwilling to talk, but his remarks were few and far between. And when they came they were short and matter of fact. Mr. Whitney appeared not to notice this much. It was rather as if he was used to Jerry’s manner. But Bob, however, felt that he was going to have a hard job in thawing out this chap who was to be his companion through the summer. He wanted to make friends but Jerry seemed to repulse every advance he made.,He had bitten into the cake before he remembered that he never in the world was going to take any more goodies from Miss Melling. “Thank you.” He bowed low, with his mouth crammed full of cake. “Thank you.” Of course he couldn’t possibly say that he wouldn’t have the cake when she put it right under his nose that way. He had thought of her asking him to go into her room to be treated to cookies and jelly. That was what he had meant he would not do.,Unashamed, he put his arms around the man when he dashed up on the veranda and asked a multitude of questions.,“Why—it—it came so.”,“Yes, but it is so sad.”,Pshaw! There stood Miss Melling, Uncle Isaac’s housekeeper. “Why! Is it you, John? Is there anything particular wanted?”,“Now, how pleasant that was, that they could be of service to you,” said Father.,“What?” exploded the boy, anxiously..