He worked on the clean ice before the shanty-boat and he was deep in his work when Buddy asked a question.
"Who is that man, Uncle Booge?" he asked.
Booge glanced up quickly. Across the ice, from the direction of the road a man was coming. He was well wrapped in overcoat and cap and he advanced steadily, without haste. Booge leaned on his ax and waited. When the man was quite near Booge said, "Hello!"
"Good afternoon," said the stranger. "Are you Peter Lane?"
Booge's little eyes studied the stranger sharply. The man, for all the bulk given him by his ulster and cap, had a small, sharp face, and his eyes were shrewd and shifty.
"Mebby I am," rumbled Booge, crossing his legs and putting one hand on his hip and one on his forehead, "and mebby I ain't. Let me recall! Now, if I _was_ Peter Lane, what might you want of me?"
The stranger smiled ingratiatingly and cleared his throat.
"My--my name," he said slowly, "is Briggles--Reverend Rasmer Briggles, of Derlingport. My duty here is, I may say, one that, if you are Peter Lane, should give you cause only for satisfaction. Extreme satisfaction. Yes!"
Booge was watching the Reverend Mr. Briggles closely.
"I bet that's so!" he said. "I sort of recall now that I _am_ Peter Lane. And I don't know when I've had any extreme satisfaction. I'll be glad to have some."
"Yes," said Mr. Briggles rather doubtfully. "Yes! I am the President of the Child Rescue Society, an organization incorporated to rescue ill-cared-for children, placing them in good homes--"
"Buddy," said Booge roughly, "you go into that boat And you stay there. Understand?"
The child did as he was told. Booge's tone was one he had never heard the tramp use, and it frightened him.
"It has come to my attention," said Mr. Briggles, "that there is a child here. You will admit this is no place for a tender little child. You may do your best for him but the influence of a good home must be sadly lacking in such a place. In fact, I have an order from the court--"
"I bet you have!" said Booge genially. "So, if you want to, you can sit right down on that bank there and read it. And if it's in po'try you can sing it. And if you can't sing, and you hang 'round here for half an hour, I'll come out and sing it for you. Just now I've got to go in and sing my scales." He boosted himself to the deck of the shanty-boat and went inside, closing and locking the door. In a moment Mr. Briggles, out in the cold, heard Booge burst into song: