“Did he say how much it would cost to send them off?” asked David.

“No.  He will put in his bill when he comes down again.  He carries freight by the hundred, you know.  He will pay the railroad charges, too, and add that to his own bill.”

“But what shall I do if both bills amount to more than ten dollars?” asked David, with some anxiety.

Don did not seem to hear the question, for he paid no attention to it.  The truth was he had arranged matters so that David would not be required to use any of his ten dollars.  Silas Jones was to foot all the bills and pay himself out of David’s money when it was forwarded to him by the agent at S——­, the place where the quails were going.  But Don couldn’t stop to explain this just now.  He told his brother and David to make haste and put the quails into the cabin; and when that was done and they came into the shop, he set them at work on the coops.  There was much yet to be done, but they had ample time to do it in, with more than a day to spare.  When the next Wednesday night arrived fifty-five dozen quails, boxed and marked ready for shipment, were at the landing, waiting to begin the journey to their new home in the North, and Don carried in his pocket a letter addressed to the advertiser, which Captain Morgan was to mail at Cairo.

The boys camped at the landing that night to keep guard over their property.  They pitched a little tent on the bank, built a roaring fire in front of it, and in company with Fred and Joe Packard, who came down to stay with them, passed the hours very pleasantly.  The Emma Deane came up the next afternoon, and when the freight had been carried aboard and she backed out into the stream again, David drew a long breath, expressive of the deepest satisfaction.  His task was done, and he hoped in a few days more to reap the reward of his labor.

The boys felt like resting now.  They had worked long and faithfully, and they were all relieved to know that their time was their own.  Don and Bert paid daily visits to their bear trap, hunted wild turkeys and drove the ridges for deer, while David stayed at home and made himself useful there, until he began to think it time to hear from somebody, and then he took to hanging about the post-office as persistently as ever his father had done.  Finally, his anxiety was relieved by the arrival of the first letter that had ever been addressed to himself.  He tore it open with eager hands, and read that the quails had been received in good order, and that the money, amounting to one hundred and ninety-two dollars and fifty cents, had been paid over to the agent from whom they were received.  David could hardly believe it.  The man had paid him for the extra five dozen birds; he was to receive forty-two dollars more than he expected; and there had been no freight charges deducted.  David could not understand that, and there was no one of whom he could ask an explanation, for Don and Bert had gone over to Coldwater that morning, and were not to be back for a week.  He had a long talk with his mother about it that night, and when he went to bed never closed his eyes in slumber.  Every succeeding day found him at the landing waiting for his money, and so little did he know about business that he could not imagine who was to give it to him.