"Stow that!" commanded Fred, making a pass at his chum, who jumped back out of reach.
"Aren't you quite a way from home?" asked Dick, as he went up and shook hands with Henry Darby.
"Yes, I am. But you see I'm driving around the country, collecting old iron. This is my dull season, and I took my oldest rig, and started off day before yesterday. I'm taking it easy—have to you know, on account of my horse's health. His delicate constitution makes it necessary. There doesn't seem to be much old iron about, and I've got this far, without picking up a full load."
"Why don't you give some to your horse. Iron is good for the constitution," said Dick.
"I thought of it, but you see all the iron I have is in long pieces and sticks out all sorts of ways. If my horse swallowed any of it he'd have more fine points than he's got now. So I guess I'll keep him on grain."
"But you haven't told me why you're away off here in the woods," went on Dick. "Is there any iron about here?"
"No, not that I know of. I came to find you."
"To find me?"
"Yes. I have a telegram for you. I happened to stop in the village back there, and while I was making some inquiries in the post-office, which is also the telegraph station, a message came for you. The operator had no one he could send with
