be dried."

Then she gave a little start, and looked perplexed.

"Now I remember I heard one of them ask Joe to call him at half after
seven--I think it was the one on the left--no, it was the one to the east
of the other one--but I didn't hear the other one say any thing. I
wonder if he wants to be called too. Do you reckon it's too late to
ask?"

"Why, ma, it's not necessary. Calling one is calling both. If one gets
up, the other's got to."

"Sho, of course; I never thought of that. Well, come along, maybe we can
get some sleep, but I don't know, I'm so shook up with what we've been
through."

The stranger had made an impression on the boys, too. They had a word of
talk as they were getting to bed. Henry, the gentle, the humane, said:

"I feel ever so sorry for it, don't you, Joe?"

But Joe was a boy of this world, active, enterprising, and had a
theatrical side to him:

"Sorry? Why, how you talk! It can't stir a step without attracting
attention. It's just grand!"

Henry said, reproachfully: