The Major | Page 6

again. There now, she's right. Pull, Ben." But Ben sat rigid with his eyes intent upon the cedars.
"What's the matter, Ben?" said Larry. Still Ben sat with fixed gaze.
"By gum, he's in, boys," said Ben in a low voice. "I thought he had his nest in one of them stubs."
"What is it--in what stub?" inquired Larry, his voice shrill with excitement.
"That big middle stub, there," said Ben. "It's a woodpecker. Say, let's pull down and see it." Under Mop's direction the old scow gradually made its way toward the big stub.
They explored the stub, finding in it a hole and in the hole a nest, the mother and father woodpeckers meanwhile flying in wild agitation from stub to stub and protesting with shrill cries against the intruders. Then they each must climb up and feel the eggs lying soft and snug in their comfy cavity. After that they all must discuss the probable time of hatching, the likelihood of there being other nests in other stubs which they proceeded to visit. So the eager moments gaily passed into minutes all unheeded, till inevitable recollection dragged them back from the world of adventure and romance to that of stern duty and dull toil.
"Say, boys, we'll be late," cried Larry, in sudden panic, seizing his oar. "Come on, Ben, let's go."
"I guess it's pretty late now," replied Ben, slowly taking up his oar.
"Dat bell, I hear him long tam," said Joe placidly. "Oh, Joe!" cried Larry in distress. "Why didn't you tell us?"
Joe shrugged his shoulders. He was his own master and superbly indifferent to the flight of time. With him attendance at school was a thing of more or less incidental obligation.
"We'll catch it all right," said Mop with dark foreboding. "He was awful mad last time and said he'd lick any one who came late again and keep him in for noon too."
The prospect was sufficiently gloomy.
"Aw, let's hurry up anyway," cried Larry, who during his school career had achieved a perfect record for prompt and punctual attendance.
In ever deepening dejection the discussion proceeded until at length Mop came forward with a daring suggestion.
"Say, boys, let's wait until noon. He won't notice anything. We can easily fool him."
This brought no comfort to Larry, however, whose previous virtues would only render this lapse the more conspicuous. A suggestion of Joe's turned the scale.
"Dat woodchuck," he said, "he's got one hole on de hill by dere. He's big feller. We dron heem out."
"Come on, let's," cried Mop. "It will be awful fun to drown the beggar out."
"Guess we can't do much this morning, anyway," said Ben, philosophically making the best of a bad job. "Let's go, Larry." And much against his will, but seeing no way out of the dilemma, Larry agreed.
They explored the woodchuck hole, failing to drown out that cunning subterranean architect who apparently had provided lines of retreat for just such emergencies as confronted him now. Wearied of the woodchuck, they ranged the bush seeking and finding the nests of bluejays and of woodpeckers, and in a gravel pit those of the sand martens. Joe led them to the haunts of the woodcock, but that shy bird they failed to glimpse. Long before the noon hour they felt the need of sustenance and found that Larry's lunch divided among the four went but a small way in satisfying their pangs of hunger. The other three, carefree and unconcerned for what the future might hold, roamed the woods during the afternoon, but to Larry what in other circumstances would have been a day of unalloyed joy, brought him only a present misery and a dread for the future. The question of school for the afternoon was only mentioned to be dismissed. They were too dirty and muddy to venture into the presence of the master. Consequently the obvious course was to wait until four o'clock when joining the other children they might slip home unnoticed.
The afternoon soon began to lag. The woods had lost their first glamour. Their games grew to be burdensome. They were weary and hungry, and becoming correspondingly brittle in temper. Already Nemesis was on their trail. Sick at heart and weighted with forebodings, Larry listened to the plans of the other boys by which they expected to elude the consequences of their truancy. In the discussion of their plans Larry took no part. They offered him no hope. He knew that if he were prepared to lie, as they had cheerfully decided, his simple word would carry him through at home. But there the difficulty arose. Was he willing to lie? He had never lied to his mother in all his life. He visualised her face as she listened to him recounting his falsified tale of the day's doings and unconsciously he groaned aloud.
"What's the matter