“Is that the man you saw in the woods, when we went after milk the other day, Tom?” asked Bunny in a whisper.

“Yes,” nodded Tom.

“Well, if this boy doesn’t want to go with you I’m not going to make him,” said Mr. Brown.  “He came to us, and said you had not treated him well.  I’ll not send him back to you.  Are you the farmer who hired him?”

“Yes, I’m that farmer,” said the man, scowling.  “Jake Trimble is my name, and when I want a thing I get it!  I want that boy!”

“Oh, please don’t make me go back to work for him!” begged Tom.  “He beat me, and he didn’t give me enough to eat!”

“Don’t be, afraid,” said Mr. Brown.  “He shan’t have you!”

“I say I will!” cried the cross man.  “That boy hired out to work for me, and I want him!”

“You can’t have him,” said Mr. Brown quietly.  “And I want you to go away from here.  This is my camp, and it is a private one.  Go.  You can’t have this boy.”

“But he ran away from me!” said the cross man.

“Perhaps he did.  He said he could not stand the way you treated him.  Any boy would have run away,” replied Mr. Brown.  “I’m looking after this boy now, and I say you can’t have him.”

“Well, I’ll get him, somehow, you see if I don’t!” cried the cross man, as he turned to go back to his boat.  And he shook his whip at Tom.  “I’ll get you yet!” he said.  “And when I do I’ll make you work twice as hard.  You’ll see!”

“Don’t be afraid, Tom,” said Mr. Brown, when the unkind man was gone.  “I won’t let him hurt you.”

Tom picked up the overturned pail, and went again to the spring for water.  When he came back he said: 

“That was the farmer I met in the city.  He took me out to his place, and was very mean to me.  I just had to run away.  I didn’t think he’d try to find me.  But I knew he must be looking for me when we saw him in the woods that day.  I hid away from him then, but now he knows where I am.”

“Don’t you care,” said Sue.  “My daddy won’t let him hurt you; will you, Daddy?” and she put her arms around her father’s neck.

“We’ll take care of Tom,” said Mr. Brown.  “I guess that man won’t come back.”

CHAPTER XIII

A BAD STORM

Bunker Blue was sitting out in front of the big camp-tent, on a bench, one day, with a pile of long sticks in front of him.  With his knife Bunker was whittling the sticks to sharp points.

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, who had been out in the woods, gathering wild flowers for the dinner table, came up to Bunker, and Bunny asked: 

“What you doing, Bunker?”

“Why, I’m sharpening these sticks, Bunny,” was the answer.

“What for?” asked Sue, as she put her wax doll down in the shade, so the sun would not melt the nose.

“Oh, I know!” cried Bunny.  “You’re making arrows!  Are you going to have a bow, and shoot the arrows like an Indian, Bunker?”