Tom began to whistle and his brothers joined in.
"Feelin' putty good," queried a farmer, who chanced to be leaning over his garden gate as they passed.
"Why not ?" retorted Tom.

"It's better to whistle than to cry." "Right you are, young man.

When one of my hands is whistling I always know he is pitchin' in." The way lay over a hill and around a bend where a number of apple trees lined the road.

The apples were within easy reach, and soon each was chewing on the juicy fruit to his heart's content.
"Wonder where Flapp and his crowd went," came presently from Tom.
"If they went to Oakville they most likely visited the tavern," answered Dick.
"It's a shame!" declared Tom.

"Drinking and smoking and playing cards will never do them any good." Another bend in the road was passed and they came within sight of Isaac Klem's farm.
"Hullo!" ejaculated Sam, pointing ahead.