Meanwhile Tom had gone on an exploring expedition. He investigated
every outhouse and shed, frightened the geese and turkeys into fits
by rushing through their paddock shouting at the pitch of his voice,
caught the superannuated mule by the tail, and made her fly off like
a four-year old, made friends with the savage watch-dog on the chain,
coaxed the pigeons to fly to him, and finally went off to the fields
in search of his uncle. On the road outside the farmyard gate he met
a team, driven by a big uncouth-looking man, dressed in coarse
trowsers, a red shirt, and a battered straw hat.
"You'll be one of the men, I guess," said Tom, stopping in front of
him. "Can you tell me where my Uncle Joshua is?"