"Don't you see he's beckoning right now?" asked the other, in a puzzled
tone.

"That's right; but please go slow, Max."

"Why do you say that?" demanded the other, keeping his eyes on the eagerly
beckoning boy who was emerging from the thicket.

"Might be a trap, you know," Bandy-legs went on. "Heard about such things.
The little critter may be just toling us on like they train a dog to do
down in the duck regions along Chesapeake Bay."

"Oh, rats!" Max remarked. "That look of terror on his face ain't put on.
You mark my words, Bandy-legs, he's in a hole of some kind, and wants us
to lend him a hand, see?"

"But where's the hole?" asked the other.

"Oh! come off, won't you? I mean he's in trouble. But here we are, and
we'll soon know."

As Max said these last words he allowed a reassuring smile to creep over
his face. He realized that the ragged boy was in some condition of genuine
distress; and Max had too kind a heart to even dream of adding to the poor
lad's mental agony.

"Hello! who are you, and what's the matter?" he asked, as they drew up
alongside the smaller boy.

"I'm Jim, mister, an' I'm in a heap o' trouble," the boy said, with an