“No, I don’t suppose they are,” said Holles. “But if you had been living on preserved pine-apples and empty coal-oil tins for the last week or ten days, you would be willing to risk a good deal for the sake of some flour or a piece of Porter House steak. We fellows over the river have been starving. Empty coal-oil tins and preserved pine-apples are not very fattening, are they? But there, I mustn’t grumble. We managed to get over to Ben one day, and he gave us one of his skinniest fowls in exchange for a large jar of my best marmalade. There was nothing on the fowl; but there never is anything on Ben’s fowls, so we weren’t disappointed. Only for goodness’ sake don’t tell that to him. He’s awfully touchy on the subject!” Hilda laughed, and asked about the damages done by the storm on the other side of the river. “Graham has come off very badly,” Holles answered. “His house was taken clean away, and three acres of his best olives are completely ruined. We have some fearful cuts on our land, and the poor devil of a Chinaman who had his kitchen-garden half a mile away from our place has lost everything, cabbages, asparagus, pig-tail, and all. Graham is living with us just now, and he says he must have something to eat to keep up his spirits. So I said I would risk my valuable life for the good of the whole community. The waggon and horses are Ben’s. After I got across the river, I went and stormed at him until he hitched up. He did not want to come with me, and began swearing at me in that poetical fashion of his, until I referred casually to the skinny fowls raised on his ranch, and then he said: ‘Hold hard, Jesse, I’ll come with you.’ So we are off together, and if you do not hear anything more of us, you will know that we have found a muddy grave!” “Good-bye,” Hilda said. “I hope you will come safely back, bringing my flour, and the mail. And some day I want you to tell me about your experiences with the ear-trumpet lady.” “All right,” sang out Holles, cheerily. “Good-bye.” He stood for a moment, looking down like a shy boy. “We fellows are all so sorry about the reservoir,” he said kindly. “If there is anything we can do to help old Bob, we’re all ready and willing.” He was off quickly after that, and Hilda watched him jump into the waggon and take possession of the reins. Then he cracked the big black snake, and started away in grand style. “Confound you, Holles!” Ben said, as they rattled over the roads. “Do drive carefully. You will be landing us in one of those holes; I’ll take the lines. I don’t want the waggon smashed up, and the horses lamed.” “I’m sorry, old man,” Holles replied cheerfully. “I’ll promise to be careful, but I cannot possibly let you drive. I always feel like going to my own funeral when you handle the whip. Here, get up, boys. Don’t be frightened of the mud. We’re not going to stick yet. Get up, boys! But, by Jove, Ben, the roads are heavy.”