CHAPTER XI.
HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS.
"Hurrah! Here we are again! How natural Oak Run looks!" exclaimed Tom on the following day, as the long train came to a halt at their station and they piled out on to the narrow platform.
"There is old Nat Ricks, the station master," said Sam. "Remember how you nearly scared him to death once by putting a big fire-cracker in the waste paper he was burning and then telling him a yarn about dynamite being around?"
"Well, I just guess I do," answered Tom, with a grin. "Hullo, Mr. Ricks!" he called out. "How are you this fine and frosty morning?"
"Putty well, Tom," grumbled the old station master. "Been troubled a lot lately with rheumatism."
"That's too bad, Mr. Ricks. Caught it hoisting trunks into the cars, I suppose."
"Don't know how I caught it."
"Or maybe lifting milk cans."
"I don't lift no milk cans no more. Job Todder has that work around here."
