"Certainly. Pebbles," reiterated Sandboys. "Nothin' extryordinary about that. Chickens has got to eat somethin', and up in these here States o' New Hampshire an' Vermount there ain't much left for 'em after we human bein's has been fed except pebbles, in which the soil is partickerlarly fertile. Well, when a hen fed on pebbles comes to lay eggs, cobblestones ain't in it with 'em for hardness, so's when you come to bile 'em it takes most a week to git 'em soft--an' this feller kicked at forty minutes. Most likely he's swearin' around upstairs now because o' the delay in gettin' his ice-watter; and 'tain't more'n two hours since he sent for it, neither." With this, Sandboys, gathering up the remaining pitchers of water, bounded up the first flight of stairs like an antelope and disappeared, while Bob and Jack went with their parents in to supper, to which they did full justice, for their luncheon on the train that day had been very scrappy and meagre. They did not see Sandboys again that night, for they were pretty well tired out with their day's exertions, and most reluctantly obeyed their parents' commands to tumble into bed at an early hour. But the next morning they were down bright and early, and there in the office, humming softly to himself, sat Sandboys, patiently awaiting such summonses as might come to him from the awakening guests above. "It's nice to see you again, boys," he said, as they greeted him. "Somehow the hotel 'ain't seemed natural without you. It's been too sorter peaceful an' quiet like; but now that you're back, I reckon the band'll begin to play a few tunes. All been well?" "First rate," said Jack. "How about you?" "Pretty good," said Sandboys. "'Ain't had much to complain about. Had the measles in December, and the mumps in February; an' along about the middle o' May the whoopin'-cough got a holt of me; but as it saved my life, I can't kick about that." Here Sandboys looked gratefully at an invisible something--doubtless the recollection in the thin air of his departed case of whooping-cough, for having rescued him from the grave. "That's queer," put in Bob, looking curiously at his old friend. "I don't see how whoopin'-cough could save anybody's life. Do you, Jack?" "I guess I don't," replied Jack; "but it isn't queer if it saved Sandboys's life, because somehow or other queer things happen so often to him that they've stopped being queer to me." "Well, I must say," said Sandboys, with a pleased laugh at Jack's tribute to the wondrous quality of his experiences, "if I was a-goin' to start out to save people's lives generally I wouldn't have thought a case o' whoopin'-cough would be of much use; but as long as I'm the feller that has to come up here every June an' shoo the bears out o' the hotel, I ain't never goin' to be without a spell o' whoopin'-cough along about that time if I can help it." "What do you mean by shooing out the bears?" asked Jack. [Illustration]