Mr.Wright stopped to clean our fish at a little murmuring brook and I ran on ahead for I could hear the crackling of the camp-fire and the voice of Bill Seaver.

I thought in whispers what I should say to my Uncle Peabody and they were brave words.

I was close upon the rear of the camp when I checked my eager pace and approached on tiptoe.

I was going to surprise and frighten my uncle and then embrace him.

Suddenly my heart stood still, for I heard him saying words fit only for the tongue of a Dug Draper or a Charley Boyce--the meanest boy in school--low, wicked words which Uncle Peabody himself had taught me to fear and despise.