“Well,” resumed Driggs, “I ain’t a mite sorry for the boy and his make-believe pony.  But I wish I could help you with your boat, for I know you haven’t any loose money to throw around like young Rip.”

Driggs dug his hands deep into his pockets and wrinkled his brow in thought.

At last he looked up hopefully.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about, boys.  The town will be laughing at young Ripley to-morrow.  But Rip, he’ll be passing the laugh around on you young fellers, too.  Now, I don’t mind Rip’s troubles; but it’s different with you boys, and I know how it stings to part with all the money you could scrape together.  Now, let’s look this job over.  I could say about thirty dollars for this job.  It will cost twenty, and the other ten dollars would be profit, interest on my investment in my shop and so forth.  Now, I’ll let this job go at just the cost—–­twenty dollars, and throw off the profit and trimmings.  Yes—–­to you young fellows—–­I’ll call the job twenty dollars.”

“That’s kind of you,” said Dick, with a grateful sigh.  “But we want to be honest with you, Mr. Drigg—–­Twenty dollars, or five, or a hundred—–­it would be all the same to us.  We haven’t the money.”

“Not so fast,” returned Driggs, his eyes twinkling.  “I’ll give you credit, and treat the debt as a matter of honor between us.”

“But I don’t know how we’d pay you back,” Dick went on.  “As it is, we’ve borrowed a good bit of money that we’ve got to pay back.”

“Exactly,” agreed Driggs, “and you want to pay the other money back before you pay me.  Yes; I’ll take the job at cost—–­twenty dollars, and I’ll throw in the use of one of my teams and trucks to come up here and get the canoe.”

“But I’m afraid, sir, that we’d be a very long time paying you.”

“No, you won’t,” Driggs disputed.  “I don’t allow long time bills, but I’ll show you a way to pay me back fairly early, if you boys have the energy—–­and I believe you have.  Now, you see, first off, boys, we’ll need a lot of birch bark.  I haven’t any in stock, and the kind that is sound and good for canoe building is scarce these days.  Now, first off, you’ll have to range the woods for bark.  Do you know where to find it?”

“Yes,” Dick nodded.  “Over on that place they call Katson’s Hill.”

“But that’s about eleven miles from here,” objected Driggs.

“I know it is,” Prescott answered.  “But the point is that Katson’s Hill is wild land.  No tax assessor knows who is the owner of that land, and it wouldn’t bring enough money to make it worth while to sell it at a sheriff’s sale.  So a number of farmers turn their cattle in there and use it for free grazing ground.  As no owner can be found for the land we won’t have to pay for the birch bark that we cut there.”

“That’s so,” Driggs acknowledged.  “But it’s an awful distance, and over some mighty rough bits of road.  You’ll be about dead after you’ve packed a load of birch bark in from Katson’s Hill.”