"In our shack. He done crawled part way, an' wen I diskivered him I helped
drag him home."

The lad said this latter a little proudly, as though he wanted these boys
to understand that while he might look thin and puny, still he was not
lacking in pure grit, and the ability to "do things."

"What do you want us to do, Jim?" asked Max.

"I seed yuh goin' along hyah, an' I thort as how p'r'aps yuh wont come over
an' see dad. He's got a leg broke, that's flat; but yuh see he feels so
pow'ful bad inside he's 'feared he's hurt thar. Cain't yuh come 'long with
me, mistah?"

Not for a moment did warm-hearted Max hesitate.

"Sure we will. Lead the way, Jim. I suppose you can bring us back here
again to get our bags of mussels," he said, promptly.

"I sartin kin, an' I will, mistah," replied the boy, a faint look as of
hope appearing on his brown face.

"But, Max--" whispered Bandy-legs, plucking at his companion's coat sleeve.

"What ails you?" asked Max, impatiently.

"Is it safe, d'ye think?" demanded the other; "wouldn't it be better for us
to go on to camp, pick up a gun, and then join Jim here?"