all animals, and he had the remarkable power over them with which some people are gifted. No matter how savage or frightened they might be, they seemed to yield to his charm.
It did not fail him now. He muttered some words soothingly to the dog, whose barking grew feebler. Soon it stopped altogether, and in another minute or two the brute was wagging his tail and poking his muzzle through the rails of the fence for Mouser to pat him.
It was almost uncanny, and the boys held their breath as they watched the transformation.
“It’s all right now,” said Mouser, lifting the latch of the gate. “Come along, fellows.”
“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Bobby. “How do you do it?”
“You ought to be with a circus,” said Fred in undisguised admiration. “You’d make a dandy lion tamer.”
Mouser was elated at the tribute, but accepted it modestly enough, and led the way up to the house, the dog prancing along with them in the most friendly manner.
As they reached the door and were about to knock, it was opened, and a motherly looking woman appeared on the threshold. There was an expression of anxiety on her face.
“Down, Tiger, down,” she cried. Then as she saw the evident pleasure of the brute in the boys’ company, her worried expression changed to one of surprise.
“Mercy on us!” she exclaimed. “I was afraid the dog would eat you up. He’s awfully savage, but we keep him on account of there being so many tramps around. I was upstairs when I heard him barking, and I hurried down as fast as I could, for I was sure he’d bite you if you came inside the gate.”
“Oh, Tiger’s a good friend of mine, aren’t you, Tiger?” laughed Mouser, as he stooped to caress the dog.
Tiger licked his hand.
“Well, I never saw anything like it,” said their hostess. “I just can’t understand it. But here I am keeping you standing outside when you must be half perished with the cold,” she went on with quick sympathy. “Come right inside and get warm before you say another word.”
She led the way into a bright, cheerful sitting room, where there was a big wood fire blazing on the hearth. She bustled around and saw that they were comfortably seated before the fire. Then Bobby explained their errand.
“I suppose we’re sort of tramps ourselves,” he said with the winning smile that always gained for him instant liking. “But we were on the train and it got stalled over there in the gulch on account of the snow. We hadn’t brought any lunch with us and we thought we’d come over here and see if we could buy something to eat.”
“You poor starved boys!” she exclaimed with as ready a sympathy as though she had been the mother of them all. “Of course you can have all you want to eat. It’s too early for dinner yet, as Mr. Wilson – that’s my husband – went to town this morning and will be a little late in getting back. But I’ll get up something for you right away. You just sit here and get warmed through and I’ll have it on the table in a jiffy.”
“Don’t go to too much trouble,” put in Bobby. “Anything will do.”
She was off at once, and they heard the cheerful clatter of pans and dishes in the adjoining kitchen.
The boys stretched out luxuriously before the fire and looked at each other in silent ecstasy.
“Talk about luck,” murmured Mouser.
“All we want to eat,” repeated Pee Wee.
“She didn’t know you when she said that,” chaffed Fred. “I don’t believe there’s enough in the house to fill that contract.”
“Pee Wee will have to go some to get ahead of me,” chimed in Bobby.
A savory odor was soon wafted in from the kitchen. Pee Wee sat bolt upright and sniffed.
“Say, fellows! do you smell that?” he asked. “If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me up.”
“It’s no dream,” Mouser assured him. “It’s something a good sight more real than that.”
Before long the door opened to reveal the smiling face of Mrs. Wilson.
“All ready, boys,” she announced cheerily. “Come right along.”
CHAPTER V
THE TRAMPS’ RETREAT
The boys needed no second invitation. Even Pee Wee shook off his usual laziness. With a single impulse they sprang from their chairs and trooped out into the dining room.
It seemed to the hungry boys as though nothing had ever looked so good as the meal that their hostess had provided for them. There was a huge dish of bacon and eggs, plates piled high with snowy, puffy biscuit, which, as Mrs. Wilson told them, she had “knocked together” in a hurry, smoking hot from the oven, a great platter of fried potatoes, and, to crown the feast, mince and apple and pumpkin pies whose flaky crusts seemed to fairly beg to be eaten.
A simultaneous “ah-h” came from the boys, as they looked at the store of good things set before them, and the way they plunged into the meal was the sincerest tribute that could be paid to the cookery of their hostess. It brought a glow of pleasure into her kindly eyes and a happy flush to her cheeks. She fluttered about them like a hen over her chicks, renewing the dishes, pressing them to take more – a thing which was wholly unnecessary – and joining in their jokes and laughter. It is safe to say that a merrier meal had not been enjoyed in that old farmhouse for many a day.
But even a meal like that had to come to an end at last, and it was with a sigh of perfect satisfaction that the boys finally sat back in their chairs and looked about at the complete wreck they had made of the viands.
“Looks as if a whirlwind had passed this way,” remarked Mouser.
“I never enjoyed a meal so much,” said Pee Wee.
“Well, you’re certainly a judge,” laughed Fred. “When you say a meal’s the limit you know what you’re talking about. And this time I agree with you.”
“I’m glad you liked things,” put in Mrs. Wilson. “It does me good to see the way you boys eat.”
“I’m afraid you wouldn’t make much money if you had us as steady boarders,” smiled Bobby.
“Come right back to the living room and get yourselves warm as toast before you start out again in this wind,” urged their hostess.
“We’d like to ever so much,” replied Bobby. “But I guess we’d better be getting along. Perhaps that snow plough will get down sooner than we thought, and everything’s been so good here that I’m afraid perhaps we’ve stayed too long already.”
They wrapped themselves up warmly, and then Bobby as spokesman turned to their hostess.
“How much do we owe you?” he asked, taking out his pocketbook, while the others prepared to do the same.
“You don’t owe me a cent!” declared Mrs. Wilson with emphasis.
“Oh, but yes,” rejoined Bobby, somewhat startled. “We couldn’t think of letting you go to all that trouble and expense
