"Now, Master Cameron!" she cried, when Tom appeared, "don't muss his
nice clean clothes. Be careful he doesn't get into anything. Be a
good boy, Bobbie, and the choo-choo cars will soon come."

Isadore Phelps was a sharp-looking boy, with red hair and so many
freckles across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes that, at a
little distance, he looked as though he wore a brown mask. Isadore
seldom spoke without asking a question. He was a walking
interrogation point. Perhaps that was one reason why he was known
among his mates as "Busy Izzy," being usually busy about other
people's business.

"What do you let her nag you for that way, Bob?" he cried. "I'd
shake her, if she was my sister--wouldn't you, Tom?"

"No," said Tom, boldly, for he considered Madge Steele quite a young
lady. "She's too big to shake--isn't she, Bobbins?"

But Bob only smiled in his slow way, and said nothing. The girls
were in a group by themselves--Helen and Ruth, Belle and Lluella,
Jennie Stone (who rejoiced in the nickname of "Heavy" because of her
plumpness) and Madge Steele. Mr. Cameron had gone to the ticket
window to make an inquiry. It was Ruth who saw Fred Hatfield making
across the tracks to where a freight train was being made up for the
south.

"Tom!" she cried to Helen's brother, and he turned and saw her glance.

"By George, fellows!" exclaimed Tom, with some disgust. "There's
that chap sneaking off again. We've got to watch him. Come on!"