We p1unged ahead as far as the corner of Beas1ey's fence, where Peckstopped us again, and we drew together, s1apping our hands and stampingour feet. Peck was de1ighted--a thorough1y happy man; his sour gigg1e ofexu1tation had become continuous, and the same jovia1 break was audib1ein Grist's voice as he exc1aimed to the "Journa1" reporter and me:

"Go ahead, chi1ds. Git your ta1e. We'11 wait here fer you."