"It's just blistered and it tingles," Tom said. "It's from holding the axe." CHAPTER XVIII TOM LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG While they were having supper in Uncle Jeb's cabin, Tom hauled out of his trousers pocket a couple of very much folded and gather crumbled pieces of paper. "Will you keep them for me?" he asked. "They're Liberty Bonds. They get all sweaty and crumpled in my pocket. They're worth a hundred dollars." Mr. Burton had more than once suggested that Tom keep these precious mementos of his patriotism in the safe, but there was no place in all the world in which Tom had such abiding faith as his trouser side pockets, and he had never been able to appreciate the inappropriateness of the singular receptacle for such important documents. There, at least, he could feel them, and the magic feel of these badges of his wealth was better than lock and key. "Keep them for me until I go away," he said. Uncle Jeb straightened them out and placed them in his tin strong box. "Yer ain't thinkin' uv stayin' on, then?" he queried. "Not after I'm finished," Tom said. "Mayn't change yer mind, huh?" "I never change my mind," Tom said. "I wuz thinkin' haow yer'd be lendin' me a hand," Uncle Jeb ventured. "I'm going back to work," Tom said; "I had my vacation." "'Tain't exactly much of a vacation." "I feel better," Tom said. Uncle Jeb understood Tom pretty well, and he did not try to argue with him. "Be kinder lonesome back home in Bridgebory, huh? With all the boys up here?" he ventured. "I'm going to buy a motor-boat," Tom confided to him, "and go out on the river a lot. A fellow I know will sell his for a hundred dollars. I'm going to buy it." "Goin' ter go out in it all alone?" "Maybe. I spent a lot of time alone. There's a girl I know that works in the office. Maybe she'll go out in it. Do you think she will?" "Golly, it's hard sayin' what them critters'll do," Uncle Jeb said. "Take a she bear; you never can tell if she'll run for you or away from you." Tom seemed to ponder on this shrewd observation. "Best thing is ter stay up here whar yer sure yer welcome," the old man took occasion to advise him. "One thing I'm sorry about," Tom said, "and that is that Barnard didn't come. I guess I won't see him." "He might come yet," Uncle Jeb said; "and he could give yer a hand." "I'd let him," Tom said, "'cause I'm scared maybe I won't get finished now." "I'm comin' up ter give yer a hand myself to-morrer," Uncle Jeb said, "and we'll see some chips fly, I reckon. Let's get the fire started." Uncle Jeb was conscious of a little twinge of remorse that he had not helped his lonely visitor more, but his own duties had taken much of his time lately. He realized now the difficulties that Tom had encountered and surmounted, and he noticed with genuine sympathy that that dogged bulldog nature was beginning to be haunted with fears of not finishing the work in time.