She was
brighter than she had been for days, and even Nat threw off the restraint
he had shown toward her lately. At The Elms they picked up Tom, with
Roland's regrets, and with a dangerous-looking hatchet in hand--to bag
the game with.
"Roland had another dinner date," he explained. "I'm glad I'm not
handsome."
"But the ax?" asked Nat
"For the little tree, you know," replied Tom. "I've tried to catch
Christmas trees before."
"Well, we are pretty well loaded up," added Nat, producing from his pocket
a revolver.
"Oh!" screamed Tavia; "for goodness' sake is this a murderous plot?
I--want--my--mamma--"
"There, there, little girl, don't cry," simpered Tom. "A gun is a fine
thing in a jungle--"
"Where ghosts scream," added Dorothy.
"And buggies ride bugs," put in Nat, shifting the lever for more speed.
"Well, it's up to us to get there first, and then we may shoot up the
whole woods if we like. The girls may--may sit under a shady tree."
The deep gloom of an approaching storm made this proposal sound quite
ridiculous, and Dorothy declared she would prefer sitting in the Fire Bird
at a safe distance from the shooting. Tavia threatened to crawl under the
seat, and even vowed she would leave the car at once if the hatchet and
revolver were not at once put away--"out of her sight!"
"Well, I have made up my brilliant mind," said Nat, "that if that
screaming thing is in the woods I am going to get it dead or alive," and
he put up the pistol for the time being.
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