He was bent double, digging (as usual in his spare
time) for truffles beneath the beech trees. These mysterious
delicacies with the awkward name he never found, but he liked looking
for them.
At first he was so intent upon his endless quest that he did not hear
the approach of footsteps.
"No hurry," said the Tramp, as they collected round the stooping
figure and held their feathers up to warn his back. For the wandering
eye had a way of seeing what went on behind him. An empty sack,
waiting for the truffles, lay beside him. He looked like an untidy
parcel, so he was _not_ in his Sunday clothes.
At the sound of voices he straightened slowly and looked round. He
seemed pleased with everything, judging by the expression of his eye,
yet doubtful of immediate success.
"Good mornin'," he said, touching his speckled cap to the authorities.
"Found any?" enquired Uncle Felix, sympathetically.
"It seems a likely spot, maybe," was the reply. "I'm looking." And he
closed the mouth of the sack with his foot lest they should see its
emptiness.
But the use of the verb set the children off at once.
"I say," Tim exploded eagerly, "we're looking too--for somebody who's
hiding.
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