MMJFZsAMMMMMMMMMi 
 
 THE POCKET RIFLE 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031728706 
 
THE SILVER MEDAL STORIES. 
 By J. T. Trowbridge. 
 
 1. THE SILVER MEDAL. 
 
 2. YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 
 
 3. HIS OWN MASTER. 
 
 4. BOUND IN HONOR. 
 
 5. THE POCKET RIFLE. 
 
 6. THE JOLLY ROVER. 
 
 All Handsomely Illustrated, 
 Sets in neat box. 
 
 LEE AND SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. 
 
Missing Page 
 
THE 
 
 POCKET-RIFLE 
 
 BY 
 
 J. T. TROWBRIDGE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 BOSTON 
 LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 
 
 NEW YORK CHARL,E$ T, DILLINGHAM 
 
COPYRIGHT, 
 
 1881, 
 
 By J. T. TROWBRIDGE, 
 
 Ml Bights Beserved. 
 
 Boston Stekbottpb Foundry, 
 
 Mo. 4 PaiKL , Street. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAOB 
 
 I. Master Cram's School .... 9 
 
 n. Lowmy Pavode's "Idee" .... 16 
 
 III. Neighboring Farms 24 
 
 IV. The Two Friends 32 
 
 V. On the Mountain Crest .... 42 
 
 VI. Jim Lathbrook 46 
 
 VII. Through the School-House Window . 52 
 
 VIII. Worth's Deception 60 
 
 IX. Chase Atway's Strange Conduct . . 66 
 
 X. Spelling for Places 72 
 
 XI. The Breach widens 77 
 
 XII. Mr. Atway's Advice 83 
 
 XIII. Husking the Corn 88 
 
 XIV. The Race Begins 92 
 
 XV. Neck and Neck 98 
 
 XVI. The Prizes 106 
 
 XVII. The Outburst 112 
 
 XVIII. The Cattle make Mischief . . .120 
 
 XIX. In the Sugar-Bush 126 
 
8 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 XX. 
 
 The Pocket-Rifle comes in Play . 131 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Worth's Revenge .... 
 
 . 140 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Peace ok Wab ? 
 
 
 
 . 146 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 War! .... 
 
 
 
 . 154 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Another Race 
 
 
 
 , 161 
 
 XXV. 
 
 A Short-Lived Triumph 
 
 
 
 , 172 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 A Mandamus . 
 
 
 
 . 177 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Beaten again . 
 
 
 
 186 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Crossing the Intervale 
 
 
 
 197 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The Flood 
 
 
 
 203 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Catching Driftwood 
 
 
 
 211 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 In the Apple-Tree 
 
 
 
 220 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Lowmy Pavode's Boat . 
 
 
 
 230 
 
 xxxni. 
 
 After the Rescue . 
 
 
 
 239 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " Damon and Pythias " . 
 
 
 
 244 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Launching the Boulder 
 
 
 
 254 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 The Ruined Hut . 
 
 
 
 264 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 How it all Ended 
 
 
 
 272 
 
THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 MASTER CRAM'S SCHOOL. 
 
 IT was noon by Master Cram's watch. 
 The last recitation had been heard, books and 
 slates were put away, and the dull and weary faces 
 about the school-room brightened with the expecta- 
 tion of a speedy dismissal. 
 
 Master Cram turned to a visitor who had come in 
 an hour before. "Mr. Pavode," he said, "would 
 you like to make a few remarks ? " 
 
 A smile went like a streak of sunshine around the 
 room. Only one of the older pupils' faces remained 
 serious. It was that of the visitor's son, Lem. 
 
 Mr. Lemuel Pavode, the father, sometimes nick- 
 named "Lowmy Pavode," was a new member of the 
 school-committee. He was a shrewd and thrifty 
 farmer, but so notoriously illiterate that the confer- 
 
10 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 ring of such an office upon him had passed for a 
 good joke. 
 
 Everybody knew how he came by his nickname. 
 , He had once got up to speak in town-meeting. 
 
 " 'Low me, Mr. Moderator, if you'll 'low me, — 
 I'd like to say a few words, if you'll 'low me, Mr. 
 Moderator, — if you'll 'low me," he stammered ; 
 and with a final " 'Low me," he sat down. 
 
 Some wag changed Lemuel to " Lowmy " on the 
 spot ; and he had been known as " Lowmy " Pavode 
 ever since. 
 
 It was the knowledge of his ignorance, and of this 
 
 anecdote illustrating it, which made his son Lem 
 
 -look anxious, and all the other big boys and girls 
 
 smile, when the new committee-man was invited to 
 
 address the school. 
 
 " Wal," said he, uncrossing his legs, and slowly 
 rising from his chair, " if you'll 'low me." 
 
 The school broke into a titter. Lem turned scar- 
 let. He was an honest, sensitive boy, and it did 
 seem as if the old man might have had mercy on 
 him, and kept still. 
 
 But the new committee-man had brought to his 
 office zeal if not knowledge. He had something to 
 say, and he was bound to say it. He placed his 
 hands on the back of the chair, and stood for a 
 
MASTER CBAM'S SCHOOL. 
 
 11 
 
 moment wrinkling up his features in a comical gri- 
 mace, and trying to remember the speech he had 
 thought over beforehand. 
 
 "Wal," he repeated, "I don't seem to git at jest 
 what I was goin' to start on. But I guess there's 
 one thing the boys '11 understand." 
 
 He turned to his overcoat, which was hanging on 
 a peg behind the door, thrust his hand into one ot 
 the deep pockets, and brought out a thing like a pis- 
 
12 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 tol with a slender barrel of blue steel, perhaps ten 
 inches long. 
 
 " See that, boys ?" he said, with a triumphant grin, 
 as he laid it on the master's desk. 
 
 He thrust in his hand again and produced a light 
 frame of bright metal, shaped something like a very 
 irregular triangle, with slightly curved sides and one 
 open end. 
 
 " See that, boys ? " he repeated, holding it up 
 before the surprised and interested school. 
 
 " Ye may giggle at my 'temp's at a speech," he 
 went on, his tongue becoming loosened, " and I can't 
 blame ye. I ain't much of a speechifyer. Tell ye 
 the reason byme-by. But ye don't giggle much now, 
 duye?" 
 
 The pupils were in fact too much excited by curi- 
 osity and astonishment to laugh even at old Lowmy 
 Pavode's odd blunders. 
 
 "I can't put my words together very well, mabby, 
 but I guess I can put this and that together, — if 
 you'll 'low me." 
 
 There was a faint revival of the tittering. But 
 the old man took no notice of it. He adjusted the 
 handle of the tube to the open end of the frame, 
 fastening it with a screw. 
 
 "Now, when it's put together," he said, " I needn't 
 
MASTER CKAM'S SCHOOL. 13 
 
 tell ye what it is, boys. Who can name the crit- 
 ter?" 
 
 " Pistol ! " said a small boy down in front. 
 
 " Gun ! " said a larger boy behind him. 
 
 " Rifle ! rifle ! " chorused three or four on the rear 
 seats. 
 
 " Wal, ye come pooty nigh it, some on ye," Mr. 
 Pavode smilingly resumed, well-pleased with the 
 success of his object-lesson. " What do you say it 
 is, you boys in the corner there ? You look as if 
 you knowed." 
 
 The " boys in the corner there " were Worth Lank- 
 ton and Chase Atway ; and two very noticeable boys 
 they were. Worth was the dark-haired one, with 
 the high, square forehead and firm features, quite 
 strOng and resolute for those of a boy of sixteen. 
 
 He was in the corner. The -boy next him was 
 Chase. He had blue eyes, constantly changing with 
 flashes of expression. He was not so tall, nor so 
 dignified, nor so old by half a year as Worth ; but 
 handsomer and wittier. 
 
 Different as they were, these boys were intimate 
 friends. They were nearly always together, out of 
 school and in. They helped each other in their 
 studies ; joined in the same sports, hunting, fishing, 
 nutting, or ball-playing ; and often "changed work," 
 
14 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 as they called it, in order to keep on the same side 
 of the dividing-line between their fathers' farms. 
 
 Now, when the committee-man addressed his 
 question to them, they acted characteristically. 
 Chase, always ready to defer to his comrade, gave 
 him a sidelong look and nod, as if to say, "Go 
 ahead, and tell him." 
 
 Worth was quite as modest as Chase ; but with 
 his strong self-reliance it never occurred to him to 
 yield place to anybody. 
 
 "I call it a pocket-rifle," said he ; "a breech-load- 
 ing, skeleton-breech pocket-rifle." 
 
 "That's about it," said Mr. Pavode, approvingly. 
 "The 'cutest thing ! Take it apart and you can carry 
 it in your pocket, pervided your pocket is big 
 enough. Without the britch, it shutes like a pistol. 
 Clap on the britch and it's a rifle, and you can shute 
 a squirrel a hundred yards off. Or you can shute 
 a deer with it, pervided agin ye go where there's 
 deers to shute." 
 
 Aware of interesting his audience, the man who 
 had stammered so ludicrously in town- meeting, 
 even Lowmy Pavode, could be eloquent. 
 
 "And now," said he, "I want ye to give another 
 guess. What ye s'pose I'm goin' to du with it?" 
 
 This question also was directed towards the 
 corner. 
 
MASTER CRAM'S SCHOOL. 15 
 
 Again the younger boy deferred to Worth the 
 honor of answering. But Worth, slow and serious, 
 wasn't ready. Then a flash of fun lighted up Chase 
 Atwaj^s face, as he replied, " Teach the young idea 
 how to shoot." This was followed by a burst of 
 genuine laughter from the school, in which even 
 Master Cram joined. 
 
 Worth gave Chase a lively nod of approval, and a 
 look in which sparkled admiration for his wit, to- 
 gether with an expression which seemed to say, 
 "You got ahead of me then; I wish I had said 
 that!" 
 
16 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTEE n. 
 
 LOWMY PAVODE'S "iDEE." 
 
 MR. PAVODE took the laugh as evidence of the 
 popularity of his entertainment, and went on, — 
 " That's my idee, edzac'ly ! To larn yer idees how 
 to shute, — if you'll 'low me, Mr. Cram." 
 
 To keep down the titter which was rising again, 
 and also, perhaps, to show his own familiarity with 
 the quotation of which Chase had given a part, Mr. 
 Cram gave the whole, smilingly, beating time to the 
 rhythm with his ruler : 
 
 " ' Delightful task! to^rear the tender thought, 
 To teach the young idea how to shoot ! ' 
 
 Who can tell me where those lines occur ? " 
 
 Once more Chase waited for Worth ; and Worth, 
 after a moment's hesitation, replied, — - 
 
 " In Pope's ' Essay on Man.' " 
 
 Mr. Cram looked satisfied ; but immediately ap- 
 pealed to the school, — 
 
 "Is he right?" 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! " clamored a dozen pupils ; though 
 hardly one of them knew anything about Pope. 
 
LOWMX PAVODE'S "iDEE." 17 
 
 "Right ! " repeated the school-master, glad to show 
 off his first class to the committee-man. 
 
 But he noticed a peculiar smile on Chase Atway's 
 face ; and he knew that Chase was the best-read boy 
 in school. 
 
 "You don't think so, Chase? " he asked. 
 
 Chase smiled, shrugged, and lifted his knowing 
 eyebrows. But he did not like to take away from 
 bis friend the honor of leading off in this little liter- 
 ary discussion. So he held his peace. 
 
 " You don't think it is Pope's ' Essay on Man ? ' " 
 
 " I don't think it is," replied Chase, with a look 
 more positive than his words. 
 
 "Well, where do the lines occur? " 
 
 " In Thomson's ' Seasons.' " 
 
 " No, sir," said Worth, with a quick gesture of his 
 forefinger. "I'm sure it's Pope." 
 
 " I'll show it to you in Thomson's ' Seasons ' to- 
 morrow," Chase replied, with the quiet air of one 
 who knew. 
 
 " Thomson's ' Seasons ' is in blank verse," argued 
 Worth. 
 
 "The lines quoted are blank verse," retorted 
 Chase. 
 
 " Then I don't know what rhyme is," said Worth, 
 warmly. 
 
18 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Mr. Cram wished to stop them, but was inclined 
 to take Worth's side of the question. Mr. Pavode 
 stood holding the pocket-rifle, which had started the 
 discussion, waiting for it to cease, and wondering 
 what it was all about. 
 
 The master repeated the lines, and said to Chase, 
 " Do you mean to say that thought and shoot don't 
 rhyme ? " 
 
 " They are not meant to rhyme, that is what I say. 
 ' Thought, — shoot ! ' " He pronounced the first word 
 very broad, and the second very short. "They 
 don't rhyme at all, or very poorly." 
 
 " There are worse rhymes in the 'Essay on Man,'" 
 said Worth. "Besides, the couplet sounds like Pope." 
 
 " It isn't a couplet," said Chase. 
 
 "Not a couplet?" cried Worth, kindling more and 
 more. " Any two lines of verse are a couplet, if 
 they belong together." 
 
 " If they rhyme ; not otherwise," said Chase, with 
 a light laugh. 
 
 " That will do, boys ! " said the master, tapping 
 with his ruler on the desk. " Mr. Pavode is waiting to 
 go on. We'll finish this discussion some other time." 
 
 "I'd like to have one thing decided now," Worth 
 insisted. "He says a couplet must have its two 
 lines rhyme. Is that so ? " 
 
LOWMY PAVODE'S "iDEE." 19 
 
 " Really — I — I am not certain of that. And if 
 Mr. Pavode will kindly excuse me," 
 
 Mr. Cram turned to a dictionary lying on his desk. 
 
 "Sartin, sartin!" said the committee-man, good- 
 naturedly. " Settle your p'ints of lamia.' What 
 I've got to say '11 keep." 
 
 Mr. Cram read aloud from the book of definitions. 
 
 " ' Couplet. Two taken together ; a pair, or 
 couple ; especially two lines of verse that rhyme 
 with each other.' -' 
 
 Chase laughed again ; but Worth looked stern. 
 
 "I think we shall have to decide that, strictly 
 speaking, a couplet must be rhymed, as Chase says," 
 remarked the master. 
 
 " I don't admit it," Worth declared, "any more 
 than I admit" — : — 
 
 But the master rapped sharply with his ruler, cut- 
 ting off further discussion. 
 
 The two friends often had animated disputes of 
 this sort; for Chase, much as he was inclined to 
 defer to Worth, had opinions of his own, and was 
 not backward in expressing them. But they never 
 really quarrelled ; and when the heat of argument 
 was over, they were as good friends as ever. 
 
 Mr. Pavode was now invited to proceed. 
 
 " Wal, as I was a-sayin'," he resumed. "But, fust 
 
20 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 place, I may as well tell ye how I come by this 'ere 
 trinket. It's nothin' I ever thought of investin' my 
 money in, you better b'lieve. 
 
 " I had a boarder last summer, and he went off 
 without settlin.' But he left a few' things, and this 
 among 'em ; and wrote me arterwards 't if I'd take 
 'em towards payin' for his board, 'twas 'bout the 
 best thing he could du. 
 
 " So I took 'em, 'cause I had tu. And when they 
 done me the honor to put me on to the school-com- 
 mittee, I says to myself, ' This pocket-rifle '11 make 
 things lively if I offer it to the boys as a prize ! '" 
 
 Mr. Pavode paused with the broadest kind of a 
 smile on his face, to enjoy the sensation which this 
 announcement made in the school. 
 
 Nobody thought of laughing at him now. Every 
 one, especially every boy, was eager to know on 
 what conditions that extraordinary prize was to be 
 won. 
 
 "My boy, there," Mr. Pavode went on, glancing 
 at Lem, who had by this time ceased to blush for 
 his father, "he wanted me to give it to him. ' I won't 
 give it to you, nor nobody,' says I ; ' but I'll give ye a 
 chance to win it.' And now he can go in with the 
 rest on ye, and take the prize if he can. I hope he 
 will," the father added, with a broad grin at the son. 
 
LOWMY PAVOJDE'S "iDEE." 21 
 
 "And what's the prize to be for ? " he went on. " I'll 
 tell ye what it's to be for. For spellin.' For 
 spellin' ! " he repeated, emphatically. " Spellin' is 
 the bottom of all book-knowledge, and I'm glad to 
 hear this school has got up a fresh interest in't. 
 
 " I never was much of a speller myself, and that's 
 the reason I never could make a speech. To know 
 how to put words together proper, a man must 
 know how to put the letters together that makes the 
 words. 
 
 " If I'd had that much larnin' licked into me when 
 I was a boy, I might be a speechifyin' man ; I might 
 be a member of Congress, jes' 's like's not. Jes' 's 
 easy for me tb've been a member o' Congress as a 
 member of the school-committee, if I'd only knowed 
 how to spell. Am I right, Mr. Cram ? " 
 
 " Spelling is certainly a very essential part of our 
 education," the master observed. 
 
 " So I says to myself, ' I'll offer this 'ere prize to 
 be computed for by the best spellers.' And now I 
 put it into Mr. Cram's hands to be kep', and finally 
 gi'n to the best speller, whuther it's my boy or an- 
 other boy, 'cordin' to his best judgment." 
 
 So saying, the committee-man formally presented 
 the pocket-rifle to the teacher, who was a little 
 embarrassed at receiving it. He had never handled 
 
22 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 a firearm in his life, and did not see clearly the wis- 
 dom of offering such a prize. 
 
 " The girls ! nothing for the girls ! " said a half- 
 audible voice on the girls' side of the room. 
 
 " Girls can compute jest the same as the boys," 
 replied the committee-man. 
 
 It was the second time he had used compute for 
 compete, but his blunders no longer excited a smile. 
 
 " Girls can win the prize, and then swap it for 
 suthin' more to their taste, or give it away, jes' 's 
 they like," he explained. 
 
 Then Master Cram felt called upon to make a 
 little speech. 
 
 "Since Mr. Pavode has taken the responsibility 
 of offering this truly elegant and valuable, though 
 some might say, dangerous, prize," he said, " I 
 engage to do all in my power to execute the im- 
 portant trust with impartiality. Perhaps we can 
 also arrange to offer a second prize to be competed 
 for by the girls. It being Saturday, there will be 
 no school this afternoon ; and we will now postpone 
 the subject until next week." 
 
 "If you'll 'low me," Mr. Pavode interposed. "I 
 was goin' for to say that any of the boys can have a 
 chance to look at the prize arter school if they're so 
 disposed." 
 
lowmy pavode's "idee." 23 
 
 "Certainly," said Mr. Cram. 
 
 Accordingly, after the dismissal, the boys flocked 
 around the teacher's desk, handling, or watching 
 others handle, the wonderful toy, with the liveliest 
 curiosity. 
 
 "Here's the way ye slip the ca'tridges in," said 
 Mr. Pavode, showing with an empty shell how the 
 barrel was loaded. " It goes back with a snap, this 
 way ; and ye're ready for yer game. For the best 
 speller, remember ! " 
 
 And he walked off, highly satisfied with the in- 
 terest he had excited. 
 
 " There'll be spellin' in the school this winter, if 
 never before, you bet ! " were his parting words to 
 Master Cram. 
 
24 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 NEIGHBORING FARMS. 
 
 " T T7HAT are you going to do this afternoon ? " 
 
 >» Worth said to Chase, as they walked home 
 from school together. 
 
 "I suppose I shall have to husk corn," Chase re- 
 plied. " What are you going to do ? " 
 
 "I've got those russet apples to pick." 
 
 " How long will it take you ? " 
 
 " Oh, a couple of hours, if Tim helps," said Worth. 
 " Then I mean to go a-hunting. There are lots of 
 squirrels and partridges in the woods this fall." 
 
 " I think pa'll let me go a-hunting, if you do," "said 
 Chase. " Stop at our house, and we'll ask him. 
 And I'll tell you what ! Come and work for me an 
 hour, husking corn, then I'll help you pick the apples. 
 Pa '11 agree to that, I know." 
 
 Worth readily consented to this plan. The two 
 friends had never been on better terms. Their little 
 dispute in school seemed to have been forgotten by 
 both, until Chase, as they entered Mr. Atway's 
 door-yard, said, carelessly, — 
 
NEIGHBORING FARMS. 25 
 
 " By the way ! come into the house, Worth, and 
 we'll look up that quotation." 
 "What quotation?" 
 " Why, the one we were talking about : 
 
 ' To teach the young idea how to shoot.' 
 
 I've got a copy of Thomson's * Seasons,' and I think 
 I can turn right to it." 
 
 " I don't doubt it," replied Worth frankly. " When 
 you speak so positively about anything in a book, 
 you are sure to be right. You are the reader ! I 
 don't know what made me say that line was Pope's." 
 
 "It was very natural," Chase answered. "It 
 sounds more like Pope than it does like Thomson. 
 And you had Master Cram on your side." 
 
 " But it was foolish in me to stick to it as I did," 
 said Worth. "I never like to be put down, you 
 know. Though I ought to be willing to be put 
 down by you, especially when you're in the right." 
 
 "Pshaw!" Chase replied, with a modest laugh 
 and blush. " I had no idea of putting you down. 
 I wouldn't do such a thing for the world ; and- you 
 know it, Worth." 
 
 "Of course I do," cried Worth warmly. "You 
 are a most generous fellow ! But it was your duty 
 to set me right, when you knew I was wrong." 
 
26 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 "And when the whole school was wrong with 
 you," said Chase, in a glow of friendly feeling. 
 " There's pa in the shed. "We'll see what he says." 
 
 He proposed their plans for the afternoon. Mr. 
 Atway — a plain farmer, in a blue frock, and an old 
 straw hat — looked up at the two boys from a piece 
 of harness he was mending. Instead of answering 
 directly, he said, — 
 
 " What makes you so late home from school ? " 
 
 " Just as we were to be dismissed," replied Chase, 
 " our new school-committee-man got up and made a 
 speech." 
 
 " Not Pavode ? " Mr. Atway exclaimed. 
 
 " Lowmy Pavode !" laughed Chase. 
 
 " It must have been a very short speech, if it was 
 anything like the one he made in town-meeting,' 
 said his father. 
 
 " On the contrary, it was a long speech, and a very 
 interesting speech ; wasn't it, Worth ? " 
 
 And Chase went on to give a lively account of the 
 whole affair. 
 
 " A curious sort of a prize, I should say," was the 
 fanner's amused comment. " A pocket-rifle ! I 
 suppose you two boys will compete for it?" 
 
 "I don't know; I suppose so. I haven't thought 
 as far as that," said Chase, turning to his friend. 
 
, NEIGHBORING FARMS. 27 
 
 "I shall," Worth avowed, promptly. "And of 
 course you will, if I do." 
 
 "I wouldn't, if I was sure of your taking it," said 
 Chase. " But if you should miss it, i" should like to 
 get it, of course." 
 
 "I shall get it if I can," "Worth replied, quietly. 
 
 " How about this afternoon ? " Chase pressed his 
 father for an answer. 
 
 "Well, well, do as you please," replied Mr. At- 
 way, good-naturedly. 
 
 " I knew he would say that," Chase observed, as 
 he walked away with Worth. " He always does." 
 
 But Worth was not so sure of what his father 
 would say. 
 
 Mr. Lankton was a moody sort of man ; though 
 sometimes very indulgent, he was often morose and 
 severe. So it was agreed that Chase should go over, 
 as soon as he got his dinner, and first help Worth 
 pick the apples, after which there wasn't much doubt 
 but that Worth would be let off. 
 
 The two farms adjoined, as I have said. But Mr. 
 Lankton's was what is called a " back-farm." It lay 
 well down on the intervale — as the land bordering on 
 the river was called — and was approached by a 
 private road, or lane, half a mile beyond Mr. At- 
 way^s house. 
 
28 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Around by this road, Worth would have had a 
 good mile and a half to walk home. But a well- 
 trodden path across the two farms shortened the 
 distance to less than half a mile. This was the way- 
 frequented by the boys. Behind Mr. Atway's barn 
 was a short lane ; a few rods beyond this was the 
 river, crossed by a rude bridge. "Worth passed this, 
 and then followed the stream down the further bank 
 until he came to the dividing-fence between the two 
 farms. 
 
 It was beautiful, level meadow all the way, still 
 green with short grass, though it was now October. 
 Hilly pastures rose beyond, and these in turn were 
 lost on a wooded mountain-side. 
 
 All up and down the western margin of the valley 
 ran the range of mighty hills, with bare blue peaks 
 in the distance, and on the slopes great forests that 
 flamed and glowed with all the gorgeous hues of an 
 American autumn, under the midday sun. 
 
 On the eastern side of the valley was a similar, 
 but more broken and more distant range, its vast 
 sunny uplands checkered with farms and spotted 
 with the shadows of moving clouds. - 
 
 In the midst of the intervale flowed the slow, wind- 
 ing river, edged with alders and willows, and here 
 and there a thicket festooned with wild grapes. The 
 
NEIGHBORING FARMS. 29 
 
 water was crystal clear, and many a pool showed in 
 its cool depths large suckers, pickerel and trout, 
 still as their shadows on the river-bottom under them. 
 
 Beyond the meadow was an orchard near the 
 river-bank; and beyond the orchard was the old, 
 brown, lonely farm-house, which Worth called 
 home. It stood on a slight elevation of ground, 
 almost within a stone's throw of the stream. Still 
 beyond it was the private road by which it was ap- 
 proached ; crossing a bridge, turning off to the main 
 road, between broken stone-walls and rows of 
 meadow elms. 
 
 Mr. Lankton was not so neat a farmer as his 
 neighbor Atway. His fences were not so well kept 
 up, and his weather-beaten house stood sadly in 
 need of a fresh coat of paint. You could hardly 
 have told what color the last coat had been, it was 
 so worn, and the clapboards were so furred by long 
 exposure to the storms that swept the valley. 
 
 The warped and blackened shingles on the patched 
 roof, the still more dilapidated barn and stable, and 
 the sagging, half-shut gates added to the desolate 
 loneliness of the picture. The house was not very 
 neat within, either. The rooms were rather bare and 
 comfortless. How different from Chase Atway's 
 well-kept, pleasant home ! 
 
30 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 To the proud and ambitious Worth this state of 
 things was galling enough. But he was used to it, 
 and made the best of it, as a general thing ; though 
 this was perhaps partly the cause that he, like his 
 father, was sometimes subject to fits of gloom. 
 
 One of these fits came over him, when, from the 
 scene of wonderful outdoor beauty through which 
 he had just passed, he entered the house, and sat 
 down with his brother and sister, who had got 
 home from school before him, at a table from 
 which the other members of the family had already 
 risen. 
 
 "Worth looked sullenly up and down the univiting 
 board, from under his frowning brows, and then ate 
 his dinner in silence. Tim and Lucy laughed and 
 prattled, but the older brother never uttered a word. 
 Mrs. Lankton, accustomed to these moods in her 
 husband and son, waited upon him with her usual 
 patience. She was a feeble, overworked farmer's- 
 wife ; and it was not perhaps her fault that she made 
 so unattractive a home. 
 
 Once more in the open air after dinner, with a 
 pleasant task before him, in the fine October weather, 
 Worth felt better. 
 
 His father met him and asked, "What are you 
 going to do now ? " 
 
NEIGHBORING FAEMS. 31 
 
 " I am going to pick those russets ; Chase is com- 
 ing over to help me," Worth replied. 
 
 " Can't you do a little stroke of work like that, 
 without Chase?" Mr. Lankton asked. 
 
 But he was in rather an amiable mood ; so Worth 
 ventured to rejoin, — 
 
 " We can work a great deal faster together. I 
 suppose, after the apples are picked, I can go over 
 and help him, and have the rest of the afternoon to 
 myself? " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," was the rather glum reply. 
 
 And Worth, calling Tim to his assistance, went to 
 the shed for baskets. 
 
32 THE POCKET-RIELE. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 THE russet-tree was on the edge of the orchard, 
 near the river. They were carrying ladders to 
 it when Chase arrived. 
 
 "It's all right; I've spoken to him," said Worth. 
 And the boys gleefully began their stint. 
 
 It was a golden day. It was happiness merely to 
 be in the orchard on such an afternoon. The lad- 
 ders were set up against the tree, and the boys 
 chatted and laughed as they picked. 
 
 The boughs rustled, the apples dropped into the 
 baskets, and the baskets, when filled, were let down 
 by reins taken from the harness, to Tim, below, who 
 emptied them into a growing, glowing heap on the 
 ground. Close by flowed the river, with flashing 
 ripples and pleasant murmurs. 
 
 " Some kinds of farm-work are nice enough," said 
 Chase from his ladder. 
 
 " Yes ; if there was nothing worse than picking 
 russets on a day like this," "Worth replied. " But I 
 am not going to stay on a farm always, — not on this 
 farm I " 
 
THE TWO FKIENDS. 33 
 
 " I hate to hear you say that," Chase replied. 
 
 " Why, do you like a farm so well ?" cried Worth. 
 
 Now Chase knew that his own home-life was far 
 pleasanter than Worth's. And it was no doubt for 
 this reason that he liked the farm better. 
 
 But he was careful not to hurt his friend even by 
 a hint of the truth. So he said, "I wasn't thinking 
 of that. If you leave the farm, we shan't probably 
 be together as we are now." 
 
 "I don't suppose we can always be together, any 
 way," Worth replied. " We shall have to make up 
 our minds to that, some time." 
 
 "I can't "bear to think of it!" Chase exclaimed. 
 " If you go away, I shall go too ! " 
 
 " Hallo, up there ! " cried Tim from below. " You 
 are dropping the apples ! " 
 
 Chase's eyes had, in fact, suddenly grown dim, 
 and the touch of his hand uncertain. .He was so 
 bound up in his friend that the mere thought of their 
 separation affected him. 
 
 Was the love he received as strong as the love he 
 gave? He never stopped to ask. It was enough 
 for him to be with Worth, and to lavish his friend- 
 ship upon him, without thinking of any return. 
 
 After all the apples had been picked which cpuld 
 be reached from the ladders, they had to climb about 
 
34 
 
 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 on the limbs into the very tops of the trees, to get 
 the scattering ones that remained. It was a longer 
 job than they had anticipated. 
 
 "Now, if we husk corn for an hour," said Chase, 
 B we shan't have any time for hunting." 
 
 " And I owe you nearly two hours' work," replied 
 
THE TWO FRIENDS. 35 
 
 "Worth. " But your father is in no hurry about the 
 corn ? " 
 
 " No ; it's in the barn, waiting ; a little in the way, 
 that's all." 
 
 " We can husk that, evenings. I'll come over and 
 help you next week." 
 
 "That'll be fun!" cried Chase, "if pa will only 
 agree to it. I'll hurry home and ask him, and get 
 my gun, while you are clearing up here." 
 
 Mr. Atway agreed to it, as the boys knew very 
 well he would. Worth watched between the orch- 
 ard and the river until he saw Chase coming down 
 the valley with something that looked like a gun, 
 then got his own, and met him in the meadow. 
 Then happy enough they were, as they started for 
 the uplands and the wooded mountain-sides. 
 
 " I wish I had that pocket-riBe in place of this old 
 shot-gun ! Couldn't I pick off the squirrels from 
 the tall trees ? " said Chase. 
 
 " Maybe you will have it some day," Worth re- 
 plied. "I hope so." 
 
 He was in his most genial mood. He was never 
 so enthusiastic or impulsive as Chase in expressing 
 his friendship ; but he had a deep, full, hearty way 
 of speaking. 
 
 "You need it more than I do," Chase said, his 
 
36 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 own " old shot-gun " being, after all, much newer 
 and better than Worth's; "and I hope you will 
 get it." 
 
 " I think you are the best speller ; I think you are 
 the best speller in school," said Worth. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know about that," said Chase, with 
 a light laugh. " Any way, you can beat me if you 
 try. You can beat me at anything you really put 
 your mind to." 
 
 "I wish I could!" Worth exclaimed. "But I 
 have to study hard for some things that come natural 
 to you. How absurd to offer the prize for spelling ! 
 If it had been algebra, now ! " 
 
 " Yes, you can beat me, you can beat the crowd 
 in algebra," said Chase. 
 
 "Hallo ! " suddenly spoke up Worth. "There are 
 your horses on our side of the fence." 
 
 " It isn't the first time, confound 'em ! " said 
 Chase. " We try to keep 'em in our pasture, but 
 they will get over." 
 
 "I don't care," said Worth; "but father gets a 
 little provoked sometimes. He says he should think 
 your father might keep his creatures at home." 
 
 Chase was slightly nettled. " I think your father 
 is a little unreasonable," he replied. 
 
 " How so ? " demanded Worth. 
 
THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 37 
 
 "Well, it isn't a very pleasant subject," said 
 Chase ; " but my father says that if your father 
 would keep up his fences, there would be no trouble 
 about the horses." 
 
 Worth retorted promptly. " My father says that 
 old Whiteface of yours will throw down and get 
 over any sort of a fence." 
 
38 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " He doesn't throw down and get over ours,'* said 
 Chase. " Look here ! there's the fence between our 
 pasture and our meadow ; green grass on one side, 
 and plaguy dry, poor grass on the other. But he 
 never gets over that fence." 
 
 " It's staked and ridered," said Worth. 
 
 "Just as every decent fence ought to be," re- 
 turned Chase. 
 
 "You can stake and rider your fences; we can 
 take care of our own," Worth answered coldly. 
 
 "Now see here, Worth, I haven't meant to say 
 anything to hurt you. It's a matter you and I can't 
 help ; it's all right between us." 
 
 " Of course it is," said Worth. " I don't care if 
 your horses are in our meadow. Leave 'em 
 there." 
 
 "But I care, and I shan't leave 'em there ! " Chase 
 declared. " You see how it is. They never get over 
 our part of the boundary fence. If your part was 
 only half as good, there never would be any trouble, 
 as pa says." 
 
 " I've had to stand between my father and yours 
 in the matter of those jumping horses more than 
 once," replied Worth. 
 
 "I'm much obliged to you for it. And I've 
 stopped my father from sending a pretty sharp mes- 
 
THE TWO FRIENDS. 39 
 
 sage to yours about the fences," Chase felt compelled 
 to answer. 
 
 " Don't do it again ; let the sharp messages come," 
 said Worth, haughtily. " We can hold our own, I 
 guess." 
 
 " The best way to hold your own is to " — Chase 
 began hotly, but checked himself. 
 
 " To what ? Out with it ! " said Worth. 
 
 " I was going to say, to take care of your fences. 
 But this begins to look too much like a quarrel, and 
 there's no need of it." 
 
 " No need of it at all," said Worth, but in the same 
 cold and haughty tone. 
 
 "I couldn't quarrel with you ; it would break my 
 heart ! " said Chase. " But you think I said more 
 than I ought to about your fences. You say they 
 are good enough." 
 
 Worth made no answer, but his eye was suffused, 
 and his lip quivered. 
 
 " Now let me ask you one question. I know you 
 will answer it truthfully, for you are truth itself. 
 Your horses are not quite so enterprising as ours, 
 I confess. But do they never get over your 
 fences ? " 
 
 "Yes, lots of times ! "exclaimed Worth, in a sort 
 of suppressed fury. "Our fences are mean and 
 
40 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 poverty-stricken, and that's a fact ! So is about 
 everything on our place, and I am sick of it ! " 
 
 " O Worth ! I am sorry I have made you feel 
 so ! " Chase exclaimed. 
 
 " 'Tisn't your fault," said Worth. " The fault's in 
 the state of things. I try to have things different; 
 but it's no use. I sometimes think I'd like to sweep 
 fences, old barns, old gates, everything, into the 
 creek, and then go in myself ! " 
 
 " Don't feel like that, such a day as this ! " Chase 
 implored. " Just as we are starting off to have a 
 good time ! " 
 
 Worth made no reply. He helped Chase get the 
 horses back, and put up the tumbled rails after them. 
 Then, as they took up their guns and started again 
 for the woods, he suddenly broke forth, — 
 
 "No, Chase, you and I can't quarrel. But I 
 couldn't so easily forgive anybody else." 
 
 " Forgive ? For what ? " said Chase, wonderingly. 
 
 "For beating me twice to-day." 
 
 " Beating you ! In what ? " 
 
 "First before the whole school; and just now 
 in the dispute about the fences. You were right, 
 and I was wrong, but you know how I hate to be 
 beaten ! " 
 
 Chase did not like to hear his friend talk in that 
 
THE TWO FRIENDS. 41 
 
 way. It showed a feeling in him which made them 
 both uncomfortable, and might prove dangerous. 
 
 " But I can get along with it ; I won't mind ! " he 
 said to himself, little dreaming what events were 
 soon to happen, or under what strange and terrible 
 circumstances they were destined to meet before long 
 in that valley, even in the very apple-tree where 
 they had that afternoon been so happy. 
 
42 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 ON THE MOUNTAIN CEEST. 
 
 ON a bare crest of the mountain was poised an im- 
 mense boulder ; and on the sunny side of that 
 elephantine rock — for the October air was cold up 
 there — lay stretched a man that afternoon. 
 
 He was a slim, slouching, lazy-looking fellow, but 
 with a certain look of shrewdness and alertness in 
 his narrow gray eyes. He seemed to be watching 
 something below. 
 
 A marvellous landscape was spread out before him ; 
 the entire valley extending for many miles up and 
 down, and bounded by the farm-checkered uplands 
 and cloud-spotted slopes of the opposite range of 
 hills. 
 
 Through the midst of the valley wound the river 
 like a silver snake. Where it could not be seen, its 
 way was still marked by the bushes that fringed its 
 banks. 
 
 The fences, the roads, the slow-moving wagons, 
 the farm-houses, even the villages far away, were all 
 in miniature, viewed from that distance and that 
 
ON THE MOUNTAIN CREST. 43 
 
 height. It seemed to be a region in which only 
 fairies lived and drove their fairy teams. 
 
 But the man was not watching far-off objects. 
 What attracted his attention was near by. 
 
 The great rock lay so close to the edge of the 
 crest, or rather shelf, of the mountain, — for the real 
 crest was a long way farther back, — that, seen from 
 below, it seemed to hang upon its very verge. 
 
 Within twenty feet of it was a cliff, to which the 
 ground sloped rapidly. The face of the cliff was 
 overgrown with thickets, which extended down the 
 mountain-side until they became merged in the great 
 forests below. 
 
 " There it is ! " he said, with a twitch of one side 
 of his face, and a blink of the eye, as the report of a 
 gun sounded from the woods. " And there's another ! " 
 
 The second report made him wink again, and rise 
 up on his elbow. 
 
 " It's all for a squirrel or two," he muttered. " No- 
 body would ever think of coming up so fur into the 
 woods if '4wan't for the squirrels. There 'tis agin ! 
 Wonder what Sal thinks of that ! " 
 
 He got up farther still, and sat leaning against the 
 rock, with the sunshine on his back, and his shadow, 
 with that of the boulder, projected far over the 
 thickets upon the forest-tops beyond. 
 
44 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 He seemed to be tracing the course of the hunters 
 — for there were evidently two of them — by the 
 sound of their guns. 
 
 " Bang agin ! ' he said, after waiting a few min- 
 utes longer. "That's better. If they'll only keep 
 in that direction ! But I guess Sal's been shakin' in 
 her shoes." 
 
 He was startled by a sudden rustling in the thick- 
 ets under the crest. The sounds approached, — 
 twigs crackling and boughs shaking, — while he 
 looked eagerly to see who was climbing the cliff. 
 
 Presently the head of a woman came out of the 
 thickets, and appeared over the edge of the crag, a 
 few rods off. The head wore a sort of loose hood ; 
 and an untidy, tattered gown quickly followed, as 
 the woman crept on all-fours up the short slope from 
 the edge of the cliff. 
 
 The man gave a whistle. She stopped, rose upon 
 her feet, and seeing him seated by the rock, hurried 
 towards him. 
 
 " You heard 'em ? " she said, with a frightened face. 
 
 "Yes, I heard 'em," he replied. "What of it? " 
 
 " I thought they was comin' right there ! " she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " "What would they be comin' there for ? " said the 
 man. " No danger. Hear that ! " 
 
ON THE MOUNTAIN CEEST. 45 
 
 There was another gun-shot. But it was in a 
 direction that caused him no alarm. 
 
 " You jest clear out and go home ! " he said. " I'll 
 stay here a spell, and see if anything happens." 
 
 After the woman had gone, he heard no more re- 
 ports. Farther and farther the mountain shadows 
 crept over the wooded slopes. He stretched himself 
 out once more beside the rock and waited.- 
 
 AU at once he heard voices. Two boys, with guns 
 and game-bags, were coming along the verge of the 
 crest, on the other side of the great rock. 
 
 It was Chase Atway and Worth Lankton, who had 
 come up through the woods, and climbed to that 
 height by an easier ascent than the thicket-covered 
 cliff. 
 
 " Let's sit down here by the big rock," said Chase, 
 " and see what we've got." 
 
 " Get on the sheltered side," said Worth. " The 
 wind blows up here — Hallo ! " 
 
 He had suddenly stumbled over a sleeping man. 
 
 At least, the man seemed to be asleep. But a,p 
 the boy's " Hallo," he rose languidly to a sitting pos- 
 ture, winked his left eye hard, with a twitch of all 
 that side of his face, and gave the new-comers a nod 
 of recognition. 
 
46 
 
 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 JIM LATHBEOOK. 
 
 " TIM Lathbrook ! " said Chase, reaching Worth's 
 *-» side. "How are ye, Jim?" 
 "Perty comf 'table, I guess," the man replied, 
 good-naturedly. " How's Damon and Pythias ? " 
 
 MVHUiMUSU/tBOtON-, 
 
 "That's what you always call us," said Chase. 
 "That's what everybody calls you," replied the 
 man. 
 
 " I don't believe you can tell why." 
 
JIM LATHBKOOK. 47 
 
 " Why ? because you are always together ; that is 
 why." 
 
 "Yes," said Chase; "but why Damon and 
 Pythias?" 
 
 " You've ruther got me there," Lathbrook admit- 
 ted, with a smile rendered vivacious by another jerk 
 and twitch of the cheek. " But I 'xpect Damon and 
 Pythias must 'a' been chums, — a couple o' coves 
 that was always together, like you be." 
 
 " I'll tell you who they were," Chase replied. 
 
 He leaned his gun against the rock, and sat down 
 beside his game-bag. Worth remained standing, and 
 listening. Then Chase, in a few words, related the 
 beautiful and touching story of that ancient friend- 
 ship which has made the names of Damon and 
 Pythias immortal. 
 
 Worth looked down with a pleased and tender 
 smile, at his comrade's enthusiasm; while Lath- 
 brook's face twitched. 
 
 " It's a perty story," the latter said, " but it's all 
 bosh." 
 
 " What ! You don't believe in such friendship? " 
 cried Chase. 
 
 "Not much," said Lathbrook. "Friends is all 
 very well as long as things go smooth. But they will 
 eat each other, when there's nothing else to eat." 
 
48 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " You're a moral monster, Jim Lathbrook ! " 
 Chase declared. 
 
 " Nobody ever called me anything moral before ! " 
 And Jim's features laughed and twitched. " I'm 
 much obleeged to ye ! But it's jest as I tell ye. 
 Friends pull together jest as long as it's for their 
 interest to, then they break. You'll find it so. I 
 shouldn't be the least mite surprised to see you two 
 fellers dead-set agin each other, let somethin' hap- 
 pen that makes your interests conflict, I tell ye ! " 
 And the narrow gray eyes sparkled. 
 
 " You simply show what sort of a man you are, 
 when you say that," Chase replied. " What are you 
 doing this fall?" 
 
 " I'm kinder lookin' around for a job, jest now," 
 replied Lathbrook, dryly, with a wink and a 
 twitch. 
 
 "You're always looking for a job, but I can't 
 remember when you've ever found one," said Chase. 
 
 " Wal ! I manage to live ; and I don't kill myself 
 with work, nuther," drawled the man. " I don't see 
 no use in that. Guess I must be movin' towards 
 home." And he got upon his feet. 
 
 " Where is your home ? " Worth inquired. 
 
 " Jest over the mountain, here," said Lathbrook, 
 walking lazily away. 
 
JIM LATHBKOOK. 49 
 
 " How does he manage to live, do you suppose?" 
 queried Chase, looking after him. 
 
 " His wife goes out washing," said Worth. 
 
 " Not much, I fancy. My mother had her once ; 
 and she declared she never would have her in the 
 house again. How a man who looks for a job from 
 the sheltered side of a rock on the top of a mountain, 
 and whose wife does, maybe, one day's work a 
 month — how he can keep the pot boiling," said 
 Chase, " is a mystery ! " 
 
 ™ This is a good place to be looking for a job, after 
 all ! " said Worth, seating himself. " What a mag- 
 nificent view ! The farms down there are lovely — 
 only get far enough away from them." 
 
 " There are our horses on your side of the fence 
 again !" exclaimed Chase. "I'll see that old White- 
 face has a hamper on, next time he's turned into the 
 pasture." 
 
 The boys now overhauled their game-bags, and 
 recounted their adventures in the woods. They had 
 partridges and squirrels, and also a few quarts of nuts. 
 
 " There was one superb gray squirrel that I might 
 have got just as well as not, if I'd only had that pocket- 
 rifle," said Chase. " He was in the very top of one of 
 the tallest trees, where my shot wouldn't reach him." 
 
 " Mr. Pavode's boarder used to pick off squirrels 
 
50 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 with it, at long distances," said Worth. " You've 
 beat me again ! " he added, seeing that Chase had 
 one partridge and two squirrels more than he 
 had. 
 
 " There's no beat about it," replied Chase. "I was 
 lucky, that's all. And we're going to divide equally, 
 as we always do, you know." 
 
 " No, we're not ! " cried Worth. " Any way, not 
 now ; we may shoot something more as we go down 
 through the woods." 
 
 "What a curious rock this is," said Chase, as they 
 were getting ready to start. " Did you ever 
 notice it?" 
 
 "Yes, many times ! How strange that such a big 
 rock should be dropped right here on the top of a 
 mountain ! " 
 
 " And see how it is poised ! I believe it wouldn't 
 take much to give it a tip and tumble it off down the 
 mountain-side ! " 
 
 " What a crashing it would make ! " said Worth. 
 
 He looked down into the thickets, then walked 
 about the stone. 
 
 "With a good, long, stiff lever," said Chase, "you 
 and I could start it. If I had a hatchet to cut a pole ! " 
 
 " Or if we had a rail handy ! " said Worth. " I 
 should like to see it go." 
 
JIM LATHBEOOK. 51 
 
 " Wouldn't it be fun?" exclaimed Chase, growing 
 excited, and looking around for a fence. 
 
 There was none in sight ; and after talking over 
 the matter a little while, Worth suggested, — 
 
 " Let's leave it till some other time, when we'll bring 
 some fellows with us, and have great sport." 
 
 " I'm sure we can do it ! " said Chase, consenting. 
 " We'll launch it like a young planet. What a fur- 
 row it will plough, though, down into the woods ! 
 It will take the biggest trees, and a good many of 
 them, to stop it." 
 
 " There's Lathbrook, now," said Worth. " He is 
 watching us ; he has been watching us all the time." 
 
52 THE POCKET-RIEUS. 
 
 CHAPTEE Vn. 
 
 THROUGH THE SCHOOL-HOUSE WINDOW. 
 
 THE boys saw but one squirrel, on their way down 
 through the woods. It bounded across the new- 
 fallen, rustling leaves, t— with which the forest floor 
 was gayly paved, giving the effect of sunshine after 
 the sun had disappeared behind the mountain, — and 
 sprang to the stem of a sturdy maple. 
 
 Chase, who was a little ahead, and might have had 
 a good shot, fell back, to give his friend a chance. 
 " It's the same fellow I saw ; isn't he a big one ! 
 Now is your time ! " he said. 
 
 "Worth drew up just as the squirrel ran around 
 the trunk. Both boys hurried forward. "You'll 
 see him in a second ; wait there ! " said Chase, and 
 sprang to the farther side of the maple. 
 
 The squirrel was near the great branching limbs, 
 when, seeing Chase, he curved his course swiftly to ' 
 the opposite side. That gave Worth a chance. 
 
 He fired, but missed his aim. As the smoke of 
 his gun cleared away, he saw the squirrel darting up 
 one of the great limbs. 
 
THROUGH THE SCHOOL-HOUSE WINDOW. 53 
 
 Then a second loud report rang through the 
 woods, and the squirrel came heavily to the ground. 
 It was Chase who had fired at the last moment, and 
 brought down the game. 
 
 "How could you miss him? You had such a 
 splendid shot ! " he exclaimed, holding up the squir- 
 rel by the gray bushy tail, in the golden twilight of 
 the woods. 
 
 " Don't twit me of it," "Worth replied, gloomily. 
 "You have all the luck. I can't shoot at all." 
 
 He was moody all the way home ; and at parting 
 refused to take any of the game which Chase had 
 shot. 
 
 "Very well ! " said Chase, losing patience a little ; 
 "you can take it or leave it. We always have 
 divided, and I am going to divide now." 
 
 As he threw down a squirrel and a partridge by 
 the fence, declaring that he would not carry them 
 home, Worth finally consented to put them in his 
 bag. Then to change the subject, and cheer his 
 friend's spirits, Chase said, — 
 
 "Let's go over to the school-house, after supper, 
 and get our spellers. "We can climb in through that 
 corner window, you know. Say ! will you ? " 
 
 " I should feel mean doing such a thing as that," 
 replied Worth. 
 
54 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " I don't see anything mean about it. I noticed 
 several of the boys carried their spellers home. I 
 should have done the same, if you had ; and I'm 
 sorry we didn't." 
 
 " I'm not ; and I wouldn't climb into the school- 
 house window, to win even a finer prize than your 
 pocket-rifle ! " 
 
 Worth spoke so haughtily and so decidedly that 
 Chase simply answered, " I would ; I'm not so proud 
 as all that ! " and with a careless laugh started for 
 home. 
 
 On coming out from the woods, the boys had seen 
 the sunshine still flooding a part of the valley and 
 all the opposite range of slopes and peaks ; and now 
 Chase was himself in the soft golden light as he fol- 
 lowed the river-bank, crossed the bridge, and went 
 up through the lane and yard to his father's house. 
 
 " 'Twas a good idea of his, to get our spellers," 
 said Worth, as he sat on the fence watching him. 
 " Why didn't I agree to it? I am always saying or 
 doing something I'm sure to be sorry for ! " 
 
 The more he thought of his speller, the more he 
 wished he had it ; and after he had eaten his supper 
 and milked the cows, he thought he would go over 
 and give Chase another chance to propose getting 
 into the school-house. 
 
THROUGH THE SCHOOL-HOUSE WINDOW. 55 
 
 But he was in one of his perverse moods. He 
 was ashamed to let Chase know that he had changed 
 his mind after expressing himself with so much 
 emphasis and. scorn. So he wandered across the 
 fields towards the^road without stopping at Mr. At- 
 way's house at all. 
 
 Meanwhile, Chase had fully made up his mind to 
 get his speller, — without Worth, since Worth would 
 not go with him. 
 
 It was in the deepening twilight of the October 
 evening that he went alone to the school-house, 
 climbed in at a rear-window, crossed the silent, 
 dusky room, found his speller among the other 
 books in his desk, and buttoned it under his coat. 
 
 Then, before climbing out again, he looked from 
 the side windows to see if anybody was coming 
 along the road. 
 
 Somebody was coming, — a tallish figure of a boy, 
 with a peculiar droop in the shoulders, and an un- 
 mistakable pitch of the hatjirim. 
 
 " It's Worth ! " said Chase, astonished. " That's 
 the way he always wears his hat when he's in one of 
 his dull moods." 
 
 He wanted to fling up the window and call to his 
 friend. But he reflected, — 
 
 " It will hurt his feelings if he knows I've come 
 
56 
 
 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 for my speller without him. Wonder where he is 
 
 !" 
 
 going 
 
 A little way off Worth paused, and looked up and 
 down; then made a quick and furtive side-start 
 towards the school-house. 
 
 
 " He mustn't see that window open ! " Chase 
 thought, and hastened to close the sash. 
 
 A glance showed him that Worth, on coming 
 around to the rear of the school-house, had paused 
 again. 
 
 " It can't be possible he's coming for his speller, 
 
THROUGH THE SCHOOL-HOUSE WINDOW. 57 
 
 after refusing with such a lordly air to come with 
 me ! " Chase thought, and dropped behind one of 
 the benches to wait. 
 
 Suddenly a face appeared at the window. 
 
 It was Worth's. He did not discover Chase peep- 
 ing from his gloomy hiding-place within ; nor did he 
 think how plainly he could himself be seen, perched 
 there behind the panes against the evening sky. 
 
58 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Then he carefully raised the sash and crept in ; 
 while Chase crouched like a culprit, holding his 
 breath, and trembling from head to foot. 
 
 It was not fear that made Chase Atway tremble, 
 in his hiding-place behind the school-house benches ; 
 though he was indeed extremely anxious not to be 
 discovered by his friend in that position. A far 
 deeper feeling agitated him, an overwhelming senso 
 of injury and wrong. 
 
 He was sorry that he had hidden there, and he 
 wanted to rise up and show himself. But if he 
 should, then Worth would know that his treachery 
 was exposed. And he might think Chase as great a 
 traitor as himself. Could the two ever be friends 
 again after that? 
 
 Chase had always felt that he could forgive any- 
 thing sooner than lose his friend. But Worth, he 
 knew, was different. He dreaded the effect on Mm 
 of an encounter, under such circumstances, there in 
 the dusky school-room. 
 
 Worth went to the corner where their seats were, 
 and fumbled some time among the books. Chase 
 could see only his head and shoulders above the 
 desks ; he did not venture to rise in order to ob- 
 serve more. 
 
THROUGH THE SCHOOL-HOUSE WINDOW. 59 
 
 Presently Worth went back to the open window, 
 and Chase could see him again against the even- 
 ing sky. A moment only. Worth slipped out 
 silently, closed the sash carefully, and dropped to 
 the ground. 
 
60 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 worth's deception. 
 
 CHASE breathed again, and slowly got up, like a 
 ghost of himself, from behind the benches. 
 
 " This is terrible ! " he said in a whisper' that the 
 hollow school-room echoed. 
 
 He glided to a window, and saw Worth hurrying 
 back the way he had come, keeping close in the 
 shadow of the roadside fence. 
 
 " He would not come with me, when I proposed 
 it, because it would be so mean. But havingj as he 
 thinks, prevented me from coming, now he comes 
 without me and carries off his book like a thief. Oh, 
 the idea of his thinking to get the start of me in that 
 way ! " 
 
 Such to Chase, in the anguish of his heart, ap- 
 peared to be the natural interpretation of his friend's 
 motives. 
 
 But maybe he did Worth injustice. 
 
 "After all, he may not have come for his speller !" 
 
 Chase caught eagerly at that straw of hope, and 
 hastened to his friend's desk. 
 
 " If I find his, I will leave mine ; I will never 
 
worth's deception. 61 
 
 take advantage of hiin in any way ! " he vowed to 
 himself, as his hand grpped among the books. 
 
 The faint hope that had risen died, and left his 
 heart sick. All the rest of Worth's books were 
 there, but the speller was gone. Chase returned to 
 the window, and leaned tremblingly upon it ; he 
 gazed out at the darkening sky, which looked un- 
 speakably cold and desolate to him, and finally 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " O Worth ! Worth ! " he exclaimed, amid sobs, 
 " you never loved me ! " 
 
 He took the speller from under his coat, flung it 
 at the corner where his desk was, and then flung 
 himself out of the window in a headlong, reckless 
 way, almost wishing that he might get hurt. Pain 
 of body would have been a relief to his pangs of 
 soul. 
 
 Once more in the cool evening air, he became 
 more calm. Above the western mountains Venus 
 shone, large and bright, in a sky still rosy with the 
 departed sunset. The distant peaks were melting 
 away like banks of violet cloud. In the bare heav- 
 ens overhead a few stars faintly twinkled. 
 
 Dew and beauty and stillness pervaded the valley. 
 Not a breeze stirred, not a tree rustled ; only the 
 river murmured as it flowed. 
 
62 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 Something of this divine coolness and calm stole 
 into the boy's soul. At the same time an unspeak- 
 able loneliness seemed to enfold the world and him, 
 like the cold, vast, dewy night. He had never be- 
 fore known the sadness, the heart-ache, of utter 
 solitude. 
 
 He felt that he could forgive Worth; that he 
 must love him still. But could he ever again be- 
 lieve that Worth really cared for him ? 
 
 " I won't try for the prize at all ; I won't have 
 anything to do with it, after this ! " he resolved. 
 And with his heart still aching with wretchedness 
 and resentment, he went home and went to bed. 
 
 When he awoke the next morning, and looked 
 out upon the fields covered with white frost, and the 
 foliage of the October hills flaming in the sunrise, 
 he found that life was still sweet ; and he thought 
 of his friend with yearning affection. 
 
 " Perhaps he will explain to me about the speller, 
 and make it all right," he fondly hoped. 
 
 But he resolutely kept away from Worth that 
 day ; it was Sunday, and the two families went dif- 
 ferent ways to church. 
 
 Chase looked forward with no little anxiety to 
 their inevitable meeting the next morning ; and his 
 heart swelled tumultuously when in due time ho 
 
worth's deception. 63 
 
 saw Worth coming up the lane, on his way to 
 school. 
 
 "How shall I meet him? "What shall I say to 
 him?" he had asked himself a hundred times, and 
 had made up his mind to act as if nothing unusual 
 had happened. 
 
 But that was not easy to do ; and he was con- 
 scious of an air of constraint — conscious that his 
 face was pale and his smile forced — when he went 
 out to join his friend. 
 
 Worth had his coat buttoned; and Chase knew 
 that the speller was concealed under it. He, on 
 the other hand, wore his coat conspicuously open. 
 
 There was no book concealed about him; Worth 
 could see that. 
 
 Chase tried to make a little talk ; but Worth was 
 reserved and silent. This was nothing new for him. 
 And yet Chase believed it was the spelling-book 
 buttoned under his friend's coat which made him 
 moody that morning. 
 
 " He isn't going to tell me anything about it," he 
 thought, with fresh pangs of resentment and grief. 
 
 Indeed, they reached the school-house, and the 
 thing which was uppermost in the minds of both had 
 not once been mentioned. 
 
 Chase watched his friend, and saw him press for- 
 
64 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 ward to their corner, and bend down behind hia 
 desk. The buttoned coat was presently thrown 
 open. The speller had been put away. 
 
 "I never supposed he could be so sly — with 
 me ! " was Chase Atway's bitter reflection. " I am 
 just beginning to find him out." 
 
 It was now his turn to act a little part. He went 
 to his desk, and pretended to be surprised at finding 
 his books disarranged. 
 
 " I never left them in that shape. Who has been 
 meddling with them ? " he called out, indignantly. 
 
 "Are they all there?" Worth asked, with a ner- 
 vous tremor of the lips, by which he sometimes be- 
 trayed excitement he was trying to control. 
 
 "Yes, I guess so," replied Chase, laying the books 
 out on the desk before him. " Only they're not ! " 
 he suddenly exclaimed. "Where's my speller?" 
 
 "Isn't it there? " Worth inquired, with an appear- 
 ance of surprise and sympathy. 
 
 " I can't find it ! " Chase declared, as if it were a 
 great mystery. 
 
 "You spoke of coming over for it, to carry it 
 home, Saturday evening," his friend suggested. 
 
 " But I didn't carry it home," said Chase. " Do 
 you suppose anybody else could have got in?" 
 And he gave a searching look at Worth. 
 
worth's deception. 65 
 
 "I don't see why anybody should have got in, to 
 meddle with your books," Worth replied, without 
 meeting his friend's eye. 
 
 " Has your speller been taken away ? " Chase de- 
 manded. 
 
 "No — I — I believe my books are all here," re- 
 plied Worth. " Yes, speller and all," — after mak- 
 ing a brief examination. " Have you looked on the 
 floor?" 
 
 Chase had not looked on the floor, because he 
 wished first to sound his friend by making this little 
 talk. But now both looked together under their 
 seats, and there the speller was found, just where 
 Chase had flung it two nights before. 
 
 "Who could have put it there?" he cried, with 
 feigned indignation. 
 
 He was afterwards ashamed of the deception he 
 had thus practised upon his friend. 
 
 " But he is deceiving me all the time in a worse 
 way," he said to himself. " He doesn't suspect that 
 I see through him. He shall know it some day, 
 though." 
 
 His bitterness of resentment amounted almost to 
 hatred at that moment. 
 
66 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CHASE ATWAY'S STRANGE CONDUCT. 
 
 THE school was called to order ; and after a few 
 exercises, Master Cram introduced again the 
 subject of the prize. He had brought to school a 
 handsome copy of Mrs. Browning's poems, which 
 he himself now offered as a prize to the best speller 
 among the girls. 
 
 This was in the days when there was a revival of 
 interest in spelling all over the country. It had 
 reache'd Mr. Cram's school. His first two classes 
 had already been formed into a single spelling-class, 
 which ranged itself around the room every after- 
 noon, just before the dismissal, and spelled the 
 words he put out. One who spelled a word right 
 passed above those who had missed it ; and he who 
 remained at the head of the class at the close of 
 the exercise received a certain credit. But he or 
 she had to step down to the foot the next day, 
 and begin the upward struggle over again. 
 
 As some of the younger ones in this consolidated 
 class spelled quite as well as the oldest, the offer of 
 
CHASE ATWAY'S STRANGE CONDUCT. 67 
 
 prizes for spelling seemed calculated to interest a 
 larger number of pupils, than if they had been 
 offered for excellence in any other branch of study. 
 
 So Mr. Cram remarked, on laying the subject 
 once more before the school. And he now pro- 
 posed that the old system of getting to the head 
 should continue ; and that in future, each final head- i 
 ing of the class for the day should count the victor 
 one for the prize. 
 
 " I suppose it will hardly be fair to start with the 
 class as it stands," he went on, " for that will give 
 those who are near the head an advantage over the 
 rest. " 
 
 As he had invited remarks on the subject from the 
 school, Worth replied, — 
 
 "It is" an advantage they have fairly earned, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 " I think so ! yes ! " chorused two or three voices. 
 
 " I don't see it so," Chase spoke up, promptly. 
 
 " Give us your reasons," said the master, approv- 
 ingly. 
 
 " If our present positions in the class showed our 
 standing as good spellers, that might be an argu- 
 ment, though a poor one, for giving those the ad- 
 vantage who happen now to be near the head. But 
 if they are really the best spellers, it seems to me 
 
68 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 they should be willing to begin at the foot, and give 
 the poorer spellers the start." 
 
 Master Cram smiled, and nodded. Chase went on. 
 
 "But there's another thing to be considered. 
 Some of those who have earned the advantage as 
 much as anybody have lately graduated from the 
 head and passed to the foot. That might have been 
 the case with those left at the head now. If so, I 
 think they would hardly insist upon anything so 
 plainly unjust." 
 
 Now the pupil who had really been left at the 
 head was Worth himself. He knew that Chase 
 knew it ; and Chase had spoken with a spirit which 
 could not be mistaken. Smarting with indignation 
 at his friend's conduct, he had made this sharp 
 attack. 
 
 Worth was amazed ; he could not understand it. 
 Chase, usually so devoted to him, so deferential 
 always, had wounded him to the quick. 
 
 "I don't insist," he exclaimed, with heat; "and 
 I scorn the imputation of injustice." 
 
 Master Cram rapped the desk with his ruler. 
 "Boys! I'm astonished!" he said, severely. 
 
 Chase smiled, but with sparkling eyes. " I am 
 not aware of having said anything wrong," he re- 
 plied, blandly and diplomatically. " / certainly am 
 
CHASE ATWAY'S STRANGE CONDUCT. 69 
 
 not talking selfishly for my own interest. I am not 
 at the foot, nor anywhere near it. I made a gen- 
 eral remark." 
 
 " He spoke of the one now at the head insisting 
 upon an injustice," said Worth, his eyes suffused, 
 and his lips quivering. " His remark was personal. 
 I am at the head." 
 
 * I spoke of those near the head ; I didn't say the 
 one," retorted Chase. "I am within three of the 
 head myself. But I'm not so anxious to get the 
 prize that I can't see what is fair and honorable in 
 the matter." 
 
 Every word was a sting to the proud and sensi- 
 tive Worth. 
 
 " That will do ! " said the teacher, cutting off fur- 
 ther argument. "I think myself that it would 
 hardly be fair to start with the class as it stands. 
 I propose, instead, that you shall spell for places, 
 going over a few of your back lessons. Those in 
 favor of this plan will hold up their hands." 
 
 Every hand went up but Worth's. He was sul- 
 lenly chafing under his defeat. 
 
 " The contrary," said Master Cram. 
 
 Not a hand went nap, Worth declining to vote 
 at all. 
 
 The plan was therefore decided upon, and the 
 
70 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 usual spelling-hour in the afternoon was named for 
 the trial. The ordinary routine of exercises was 
 then resumed. 
 
 Very little communication took place between the 
 two friends during the day. Chase, in thinking 
 over the affair, deeply regretted the open breach 
 between them. But it seemed to him better that it 
 should be open ; far better than that they should 
 both keep on hypocritically trying to cover up, with 
 friendly appearances, a secret wrong, of which both 
 were conscious, but of which neither could speak. 
 
 During the day there was an industrious study- 
 ing of spelling-books, in spare moments, through- 
 out the school. But Chase did not deign to look 
 at his. 
 
 In a certain way, he was prouder even than 
 Worth ; for Worth was not too proud to take out 
 his speller, when no other study was pressing, and 
 prepare himself for the coming trial. 
 
 To show his contempt for the whole business, 
 Chase sat and made drawings on his slate. Or per- 
 haps it was to relieve his own restless and remorse- 
 ful heart that he thus occupied himself with trifles. 
 
 The hour came, and the spelling was announced. 
 
 " Keep your seats," said the master, " and I will 
 pronounce words to you where you are. But when 
 
CHASE ATWAY'S STRANGE CONDUCT. 71 
 
 one misses, let him or her step out and stand in 
 place for the formation of the new class, beginning 
 at the foot. I shall put out words only to those on 
 the seats. The one who holds out longest without 
 missing will, of course, be at the head. Then we 
 shall be ready for a fair start to-morrow, when the 
 credits for the prizes will begin to count." 
 
 " Can any one give his place to another after the 
 class is formed ? " Chase inquired. 
 
 " I shouldn't suppose any one would wish to do 
 so," replied the master. 
 
 " But if any one should wish to ? " Chase insisted. 
 
 "Why, — only for the start, — since the spelling 
 for the prizes really begins to-morrow," replied 
 Master Cram, "I don't object.. What does the 
 school say? I'll put it to a vote." 
 
 As there were a number of votes in the affirma- 
 tive, and none in the negative, Chase Atway's 
 strange question was answered to his satisfaction. 
 
 Whilst making drawings on his slate, he had 
 really been considering an idea which was to take 
 the school by surprise. 
 
72 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 SPELLING FOR PLACES. 
 
 WHEN all were in readiness, the spelling began. 
 Master Cram put out easy words at first, but 
 advanced rapidly to harder, after he had gone once 
 or twice around the school. 
 
 There was great fun over the first miss. The vic- 
 tim was Charlie Budgett ; he went down on the sim- 
 ple word staging, which he spelled with an e between 
 the g and i. 
 
 " Never mind, Charlie," said the master, cheerily. 
 " You are not the first person who has fallen from 
 a staging. You'll have a chance to get up to- 
 morrow." 
 
 There was another laugh when Charlie, who was 
 the tallest and awkwardest boy in school, stepped 
 out to take his place at the foot of the new class. 
 
 He was not long without company. Poor Lem 
 Pavode, whom Chase had observed studying his 
 speller with great assiduity, in the hope of starting 
 well for the prize his father had offered to the whole 
 school, failed on barrel (which he spelled barrell), 
 
SPELLING FOR PLACES. 73 
 
 and had to take his place next to the gawky 
 Charles. 
 
 w It was a pretty long barrel you made of it," ob- 
 served the facetious master. "You made it an I too 
 long. Thinking of a rifle-barrel, I suppose." 
 
 Lem didn't see the joke. He saw only the dis- 
 couraging circumstance that he had made a bad be- 
 ginning for the coveted prize. Two girls and a boy 
 missed scion, and filed to their places in the now 
 fast-forming class. 
 
 The word came to "Worth, and disaster with it. 
 How he chanced to spell it scyon, when he knew 
 perfectly well the moment after how it should be 
 spelled, he never could explain. 
 
 " It makes you sigh, doesn't it ? " said the master. 
 " Well, take your place, and you can sigh on with 
 the rest. Next." 
 
 Chase was next, and he spelled the word trip- 
 pingly on the tongue, with an ease and readiness 
 not calculated to soothe Worth's feelings. It was 
 perhaps his perfect freedom from anxiety which gave' 
 him good fortune. Having made up his mind not 
 to compete for the prize, he was gay and self-pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 At length, only he and Laura Fosdick were left 
 on the seats ; objects of envy to the rest, who were 
 
74 THE POCKBT-KIFLE. 
 
 now out of the game, and stood intently watch- 
 ing it. 
 
 " Balance," pronounced the master. 
 
 The word came to Laura. 
 
 " B-a-l-' — she hesitated, and after a little con- 
 fusion, added, " l-a-n-c-e" 
 
 " Wrong ! " And amid about as much laughter 
 as had greeted the first failure, Laura went to her 
 place, leaving Chase alone. 
 
 He was surprised and jubilant. Having spelled 
 the word correctly (though he owned afterwards 
 that he should have spelled it just as Laura did if 
 it had come first to him), he waited for more. 
 
 "There's no use of more," said Master Cram. 
 " Everything is decided. Take your place, Atway." 
 
 Chase deliberated a moment, then walked to the 
 head of the class. If cheering had been in order, 
 he would have been cheered heartily. He was a 
 favorite with the school ; and his generous conduct 
 in the whole affair made those who had lost glad to 
 see him win. 
 
 With perhaps one exception. By the intense 
 brightness of Worth's dark eyes, fixed upon his 
 triumphant friend, you could hardly have told 
 whether he was glad or sorry. 
 
 " I believe it was understood," said Chase, stand- 
 
SPELLING FOR PLACES. 75 
 
 ing at the head of the class, " that any one could 
 give up his place to another." 
 
 " That was the decision," replied the master. 
 
 But it had been so nearly forgotten that Chase's 
 remark took almost everybody by surprise. 
 
 " I am going to give up my place to one I think 
 deserves it more." 
 
 And he glanced his eye along the class. Every 
 one, of course, thought he meant Worth. This, 
 then, was to be his atonement for the injury he had 
 done his friend in the morning. 
 
 "Worth certainly believed so; and he instantly 
 made up his mind not to accept the sacrifice. He 
 would show himself as magnanimous as Chase. 
 What, then, was his surprise — what was the sur- 
 prise of everybody — when Chase walked deliber- 
 ately past his friend, and did not stop until he was 
 near the foot. 
 
 " Lem Pavode," said he, " take your place at the 
 head ! " At the same time he swung Lem from 
 his position, and launched him with good-humored 
 force towards that which he had himself just va- 
 cated. 
 
 Lem stopped, bewildered and embarrassed. 
 
 " I don't want to take it ! " said he, with tears 
 starting in his eyes. He looked back, and saw 
 
76 THE POCKET-BEFLE. 
 
 Chase already in position next to Charlie Budgett 
 at the foot, and knew by his frank and honest face 
 that it was no joke. 
 
 " I want him to take it," said Chase. " I should 
 want him to have the first chance, even if I was 
 going to try for the prize. But I'm not." 
 
 " Not going to try for the prize, Atway ! " said 
 Master Cram. " Why so ? " 
 
 " I can't very well explain my reasons," replied 
 Chase. " But I think I'd better not." 
 
 " Then I suppose I may as well take the chance 
 he gives me," said Lem ; " though I don't expect 
 it will be of much use. I shan't be here to-morrow 
 night, I'm afraid ! " 
 
 " I don't see why you shouldn't be," observed the 
 master. " You or any one can learn perfectly to- 
 morrow's lesson, and the spelling will be confined to 
 that." 
 
 Lem's tearful face shone with a newly-inspired 
 hope. All — or nearly all — regarded him with 
 sympathy, and Chase with admiration. 
 
THE BREACH WIDENS. 77 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE BREACH WIDENS. 
 
 AFTER school, many took their spellers to carry 
 home. Lem hugged his to his heart, with a 
 cheerful and resolute look. Chase sought him out 
 and walked aside with him. 
 
 "See here, Lem!" he said; "do you know the 
 plan I've formed ? " 
 
 "No," replied the grateful boy ; " what is it?" 
 
 " That you shall win the pocket-rifle." 
 
 " You mean — that I — " 
 
 " Yes," Chase declared ; " I've set my heart on it. 
 And I'm going to help you all I can. But you must 
 help yourself. You're a pretty good speller; and 
 now you've got ahead, there's no reason why you 
 shouldn't keep ahead. Don't tell anybody what I 
 say ; but remember it and rely on me." 
 
 Lem went home with his heart all aglow with joy, 
 gratitude, and ambition. 
 
 Meanwhile, Worth had started homeward — a 
 very unusual thing — without his friend. But Chase 
 saw that he walked very slowly, and soon came up 
 
78 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 with him. Neither spoke for some time. Worth's 
 brow was dark and lowering, and Chase did not 
 choose to begin a conversation. At length, Worth 
 said, in a much gentler tone than Chase had any 
 reason to expect, — 
 
 " I don't understand you, Chase ! " 
 
 '* That's not very surprising," Chase replied. "I 
 haven't understood myself, nor you either, until 
 quite lately." 
 
 " You really don't mean to try for the prize ? " 
 
 " That's what I said." 
 
 " Why not ? " Worth asked, in an humble tone. 
 
 " Because I don't think it's worth while. There 
 are other things of a great deal more importance than 
 Pavode's pocket-rifle, or the honor of winning it." 
 
 " Something has come over you," said Worth, in 
 his full, tender voice, now slightly tremulous. 
 
 Chase was silent. His heart was full. He longed 
 for a renewal of friendship, and would gladly have 
 forgiven everything if Worth had taken the first 
 necessary step towards a reconciliation. 
 
 That step was, of course, a frank confession, or at 
 least an explanation, of the deception Worth had 
 practised in carrying home his speller. But not 
 knowing that Chase had discovered his secret, Worth 
 avoided any allusion that would lead to it. 
 
THE BREACH WIDENS. 79 
 
 " You said once that you hoped I would get the 
 prize. But I don't suppose you have given it up 
 for my sake. I don't want you to do that." 
 
 Still Chase remained silent, struggling with emo- 
 tions which his companion's voice, the recollection of 
 their long and dear intimacy, and the sense of recent 
 wrongs, awakened in him. 
 
 " I was astonished — I am sorry," said Worth, 
 "that you are not going to try." 
 
 Then Chase spoke out. " / am not sorry ! It 
 was a great relief to me, the moment I determined 
 to step out of the race — out of the way of temp- 
 tation." 
 
 " Temptation ! " echoed Worth, — " what temp- 
 tation?" 
 
 " The temptation to sell my soul for a paltry prize ; 
 to be mean, selfish, dishonest ; to forget friendship 
 and honor and truth in that miserable strife ! " 
 
 The boy flung out these passionate words with 
 sudden, rapid vehemence ; and again there was 
 silence. He carried his head high, with flushed and 
 excited features. Worth walked by his side, 
 thoughtful and down-looking. 
 
 " You think I have done that ? " Worth said, after 
 a while. 
 
 " I have nothing to say j J leave it to your own 
 
80 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 conscience," replied Chase. " But, Worth, I have 
 thought of one thing many times," he added, his 
 voice beginning to break, — " what that wretched 
 sinner, Jim Lathbrook, said to us only last Satur- 
 day. About friendship, you know ; the selfishness 
 that is at the bottom even of that. Was he right ? 
 Oh!" 
 
 Chase spoke as if his heart was wrung. 
 
 " You said then it wasn't possible for us ever to 
 quarrel," Worth replied. " But you really made an 
 attack upon me to-day." 
 
 " Yes, I did ! " Chase declared, impetuously. " I 
 couldn't help it. I hate unfairness in any one ; in a 
 friend most of all." 
 
 " Perhaps I was a little unfair ; but it was from 
 thoughtlessness. You needn't have turned on me so 
 — you of all persons ! " said Worth, with strong 
 feeling. " I don't know what to make of it ! " 
 
 " I was disgusted and provoked. It seemed such 
 a petty strife ! " cried Chase. " But I have got 
 through. I am out of the race. Now it won't be 
 necessary for you to deceive me, or try to get the 
 start of me in anything ; I shan't stand in your path." 
 
 These were burning words for Worth to carry 
 away in his heart. He started to answer them, but 
 while he hesitated they reached Mr. Atway's yard. 
 
THE BREACH WIDENS. 
 
 81 
 
 Chase turned into the shed, and Worth, full of 
 smouldering rage and mortification, kept on his way- 
 alone. 
 
 MB 
 
 'mm' 
 
 Chase saw that the breach between them was 
 broadening more and more. He couldn't help it. 
 Something drove him to speak and act as he did. 
 It was, perhaps, the natural revolt of feeling against 
 
82 THE POCKET-EIFLE. 
 
 one whom he had always set too high above himself, 
 whom he had worshipped too much, and whom he 
 now found unworthy. 
 
 " If he had only owned up to that mean trick of 
 getting his speller ! " thought Chase, regretfully. 
 " I gave him more than one chance to. Now let him 
 do what he will." 
 
 He remembered with grim satisfaction the corn 
 Worth had engaged to help him husk on the even- 
 ings of that week. 
 
 " It belongs to him to come to me," he reflected. 
 " But I don't believe he will come." 
 
 He was right. Worth's mind was in too black 
 and thunderous a state that evening to permit of his 
 keeping the engagement. He was not willing, how- 
 ever, to rest under the smallest weight of obligation 
 to Chase ; and accordingly resorted to a simple de- 
 vice for discharging it. 
 
MR. atway's advice. 83 
 
 CHAPTEE XH. 
 
 ME. ATWAY'S ADVICE. 
 
 AFTEE supper, Tim Lankton made his appearance 
 at Mr. Atway's kitchen-door. He wanted to 
 see Chase. 
 
 "What is it, Tim?" said Chase, meeting him in 
 the dusky doorway. 
 
 " Worth wanted me to come over and help you 
 husk that corn," said Tim. 
 
 "Why don't he come himself, as he agreed?" re- 
 turned Chase. 
 
 " He couldn't very well to-night ; he's busy," re- 
 plied Tim. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Chase sarcastically. " Studying his 
 spelling-book, I suppose? " 
 
 " I suppose so," grinned Tim. 
 
 " Well," added Chase, " I don't want you to do 
 work that he has promised to do himself. But I'll 
 excuse him. Tell him he is quite welcome to the 
 help I gave him about picking those apples, and 
 that I am able to husk the corn alone." 
 
84 
 
 THE POCK.ET-KIFLE. 
 
 Tim was only too glad to get off so ; and he went 
 home to his brother with this errand. 
 
 But Chase was agitated and unhappy. His father 
 waited until they were alone, and then said, — 
 
 "What's the trouble between you and Worth?" 
 
 Chase answered by beginning to cry. 
 
 "Well, well; something serious, is it?" said his 
 father. " Come, cheer up, and tell me all about it." 
 
 Then the unhappy boy opened his heart and told, 
 amid sobs he could not control, the whole story. 
 
 "Just like one of them Lanktons, for all the 
 
MR. atway's advice. 85 
 
 world ! " said Mr. Atway . " They're a sulky, 
 treacherous lot." 
 
 "I always thought Worth was different," said 
 Chase, inclined now to stand up for his friend. 
 
 " He's a Lankton — clear Lankton ! " replied his ' 
 father. "I've watched your intimacy with him a 
 good while ; and, to tell you the truth, I haven't 
 been over-and-above pleased with it. You've thought 
 a great deal more of him than he ever deserved." 
 
 " There's nothing I wouldn't have done for him ! " 
 sobbed Chase. 
 
 "I know it. But it's precious little he would 
 ever have done for you ! " said Mr. Atway. " When- 
 ever he has wanted you for anything, then how good 
 a friend he has always been ! But when he hasn't 
 wanted you, he has been cold and stiff with you. 
 Hasn't he?" 
 
 "Sometimes," Chase confessed. "He acknowl- 
 edges that he has his moods." 
 
 " There are some good traits about him," his father 
 went on. "But he never was what you thought 
 him. And I'm not sorry that you are finding him 
 out. Better now than later." 
 
 " But it is so hard ! " replied Chase. 
 
 "It is hard," said his father tenderly. "It is 
 about the hardest thing in life to find that those we 
 
86 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 have loved and trusted are unworthy ; that those we 
 have been most devoted to have all the while been 
 thinking chiefly of themselves." 
 
 Chase could not but own to himself that this had 
 been the way with Worth. 
 
 " He can be so kind, so obliging ! " he said. " More 
 so than I ever was ! " 
 
 " There you are mistaken," said his father. " He 
 has an intense way of expressing himself, and he 
 has strong impulses ; that's all there is about it. Now 
 take my advice. Set him down for what he is, and 
 make the best of him. Don't be such a satellite to 
 him as you have been hitherto ; he ain't the centre of 
 the universe to you, or to anybody but himself." 
 
 Chase sat silent by the kitchen-table, with his 
 forehead on his hand. 
 
 "And in future," his father continued, lighting his 
 pipe by the stove, "don't place your friends away up 
 above you in the clouds ; don't expect too much of 
 'em. Youll be sure to be disappointed if you do." 
 
 "Are there no friends in the world?" said Chase, 
 looking up despairingly. 
 
 "Yes, plenty of them," said his father. "You'll 
 find, though, that every one, as a general thing, has 
 interests of his own which are first and foremost 
 with him. Kemember that. And, as I said, don't 
 
ME. atway's advice. 87 
 
 expect too much. It will be a good lesson to you, 
 if you'll only learn that." 
 
 A good lesson, perhaps, but it left Chase unspeak- 
 ably depressed. And it did not tend to soften his 
 heart toward "Worth. He thought over all his father 
 had said of the friend he had overrated ; he recalled 
 a hundred instances of Worth's coldness and neglect, 
 and exclaimed,, in the bitterness of his soul, — 
 
 " All he has cared for has been just to make a tool 
 of me, and I have been weak enough to let him ! 
 But all that is past. I am nobody's tool any more." 
 
 The next day the two friends had no intercourse 
 with each other ; and it was noticed that Worth no 
 longer passed Mr. Atway's house on his way to and 
 from school. He even lengthened the distance a 
 mile by going around the road. 
 
 Meanwhile, Chase had scrupulously kept his word 
 in one thing. Old Whiteface, the mischief-maker, 
 the leading fence-leaper, was furnished with a ham- 
 per when turned with the other horses into the back 
 pasture adjoining Mr. Lankton's fields. 
 
 "It's a good idea; we ought to have done it be- 
 fore," said his father. " Avoid every chance for a 
 quarrel, my son ; remember they are our neighbors." 
 
 This was excellent advice, and it would have been 
 well if Chase could have shaped his future conduct 
 by it. 
 
88 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER Xm. 
 
 HUSKING THE CORN. 
 
 CHASE had help about the corn-husking, never- 
 theless. 
 
 After his talk with his father that evening, Lem 
 Pavode came over to see him. 
 
 Lem had met Tim Lankton, and learned of him 
 that there was trouble between Chase and Worth. 
 He came with his spelling-book, and this propo- 
 sition : 
 
 " If you'll drill me in the spelling-lessons, I'll 
 husk all the corn Worth promised to, and a good 
 deal more." 
 
 " That will be jolly ! " said Chase, glad of some- 
 thing to distract his mind. 
 
 So they took a lantern and the speller, and went 
 to the barn, and sat down before the pile of un- 
 husked ears. 
 
 The light was placed on an overturned box, and 
 the book laid open beside it, with a bright red ear 
 
HUSKING THE CORN. 89 
 
 across the leaves. And there the boys husked the 
 corn, throwing the stripped ears in another pile 
 behind them, while Chase glanced now and then at 
 the outspread page, and pronounced words for Lem 
 to spell. 
 
 Then something happened which Chase never 
 knew of until long afterwards. "When Tim went 
 home to his brother With Chase's message, Worth 
 was mightily moved by it. He had been suffering 
 intensely from the stab of Chase's last words ; and 
 he now felt impelled to go over at once and have a 
 talk with him. 
 
 -With this impulse he set out. He, too, longed 
 for a reconciliation. He knew that he had been in 
 the wrong, and he burned to set himself right. He 
 would at any rate insist on doing his share of the 
 corn-husking, and make an opportunity for explana- 
 tions and a renewal of friendship. 
 
 " But if he still treats me with insolence," he said 
 to himself, — remembering with bitterness and hu- 
 miliation what he had already borne, — " there'll be 
 a final outburst, and we are enemies forever ! " 
 
 With such mingled feelings he went up the lane 
 and entered Mr. Atway's yard. 
 
 As he was passing the barn, the sound of voices 
 and a light within attracted his attention. He 
 
90 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 stopped at the door, which was open a handbreadth, 
 and looked in. 
 
 The rustling of the husks prevented his being 
 heard ; and the boys went on with their occupation. 
 All above and about them were the shadows of the 
 great barn. But there was the bright core of ra- 
 diating light, the figures of the young huskers, 
 relieved in its warm glow, their animated faces, the 
 piles of corn, and the open book with the red ear on 
 it, beside the lantern. 
 
 The boys husked, and laughed, and tossed the 
 golden ears, and spelled the words of the lesson, 
 wholly unconscious of the dark face out there in the 
 night, peering upon them through the narrow open- 
 ing of the doorway. 
 
 Something fierce and wolfish came up in Worth's 
 breast as he watched and listened. This then was 
 Chase ! so long his faithful follower, who had 
 always " appeared to him so frank and generous 
 and true. 
 
 After declaring that he would not compete for the 
 prize, here he was studying for it with all his might. 
 And after rudely flinging off an old friend, he was 
 plotting against him with a new one. It was now 
 Worth's turn to look upon Chase as a traitor. 
 
 "It was a mere pretence, to throw me off my 
 
" Husking the corn." Page 89. 
 
HUSKING THE CORN. 
 
 91 
 
 guard, that he wouldn't try for the prize. He has 
 meant to try for it all the time. But he never shall 
 
 get it — not if I live ! " 
 
 And with this resolution" Worth drew back from 
 the opening, and fled away across the dark and 
 lonely fields. 
 
 13PII| 
 
 "■■£ 
 
92 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE RACE BEGINS. 
 
 THE next day, thanks to Chase's drill, Lem was 
 able to hold his position at the head of the 
 class, and make the first count for the prize. 
 
 Wednesday, Laura Fosdick kept the lead. There 
 was some changing of places below her ; Lem, who 
 had passed to the foot, came to Chase's side about 
 half-way up the class, and Worth was left at the 
 head when Laura went down. 
 
 The next day Worth came off victorious, and left 
 but one between Chase and the head. But on Fri- 
 day Chase easily became first, and just at the close 
 of the exercise Lem walked up to his side. 
 
 Only three or four words remained of the lesson. 
 The last was cancel, and if it had been spelled cor- 
 rectly at the foot of the class, Chase would have 
 stood at the head that night. 
 
 But Charlie Budgett was at the foot, to which he 
 constantly gravitated, like a water-logged stick to 
 the bottom of a stream. The current of change 
 from the head to the foot lifted him a point every 
 
THE RACE BEGINS. 93 
 
 day ; but he was sure to sink back under the weight 
 of the first hard word. 
 
 " C-a-n, can," he said, and stopped ; then plunged 
 recklessly forward, " s-i-l, sil, cansil." 
 
 " Wrong ! Next ! " 
 
 And the word came to Chase at the head of the 
 class. This gave him an opportunity he had been 
 eagerly looking for. He knew well enough how to 
 spell the word. But with a brazen face, and in a 
 bold voice, he gave it, — 
 
 " C-a-n, can, c-i-l." 
 
 Everybody was astonished ; nobody more so than 
 Worth. 
 
 "Why, Atway!" said the master, "you know 
 better than that." 
 
 Chase grinned, but made no reply. 
 
 " Next. Cancel." 
 
 And Lem spelt the word right, as Chase had felt 
 sure he would. That sent him above his champion, 
 and left him a second time at the head. After 
 school, boys and girls flocked about Chase. 
 
 " O Chase ! you did it a-purpbse ! you did it a- 
 purpose ! " they clamored. 
 
 But nobody could make him say whether he did 
 or not. Worth did not know what to think. He 
 was puzzled. 
 
94 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 The evening huskings and spelling-lessons were 
 kept up all that week, and it turned out that while 
 Chase was helping Lem, he was also helping him- 
 self. He was sure not to let any one get above 
 him, until in the regular routine he followed Lem to 
 the foot ; so that he too counted one for the prize. 
 
 Toward the latter part of the following week, 
 something unexpected occurred. The corn being 
 all husked, Chase had said to Lem, " Now you can 
 take care of yourself, can't you ? Get your sister 
 to drill you in the lessons." 
 
 To this Lem had agreed. And he studied as 
 hard as ever. But for some reason he began to fall 
 back. Again he stood next to Chase, who was at 
 the head ; and once again Chase waited for a chance 
 to let him go up and make another count. 
 
 The chance came with the word mullein. Chase 
 gave Lem a nudge, and spelled boldly, — 
 
 " M-u-l, mul, e-i-n." 
 
 Great sensation in the class. Lem was pale with 
 apprehension. Worth's dark eyes shone. 
 
 " Next ! " said the master. Poor Lem had spelled 
 the word a dozen times the night before ; but now, 
 to save his life, he couldn't remember the right way. 
 
 The truth was, Chase had previously given him 
 something besides drill; he had given him sym- 
 
THE RACE BEGINS. 95 
 
 pathy, spirit, that unaccountable something which 
 sometimes passes from another mind to our own, 
 and enables us to do what we could never do with- 
 out it. From his sister Lem received no such aid. 
 
 " M-u-l, rnul, i-e-n," he stammered, in a tremor 
 of fright. 
 
 A scowl and a shrug were the only signs of 
 Chase's irritation. Hardly anybody rejoiced at the 
 failure, except, perhaps, Worth Lankton, who was 
 watching like a lynx, ready to snap the word if it 
 should come to him, and make a long stride to the 
 head. Worth stood third from Lem. 
 
 " Incorrect," said the master, slowly and regret- 
 
 fully. 
 
 And the word passed to John Eich. " M-u-l- 
 l-i-e-n," was John's unlucky spelling. 
 
 Chase then saw only one pupil standing between 
 him and fate, — that is, between him and Worth, — 
 waiting to go up. 
 
 That one was Laura Fosdick. He would gladly 
 have given place to her, even if she had been com- 
 peting for the pocket-rifle. But she was not ; only 
 the blue-and-gold volumes of Mrs. Browning were 
 within the scope of her ambition. 
 
 Laura was one of the best spellers in school, and 
 if the word had come first to her, she would not 
 
96 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 probably have missed it. But she had had time to 
 grow confused over it. 
 
 She spelled it in the same way Chase had spelled 
 it in the first place, then saw instantly that she was 
 wrong, and wished to correct herself. But it was 
 too late. 
 
 "I was thinking Chase spelled it m-u-l-l-e-i-n" 
 she said. " Of course I knew how to spell it." 
 
 Chase threw up his hand. 
 
 "What is it, Atway?" 
 
 "That isn't fair; she has told them below her 
 how to spell it." 
 
 " And you are telling them that she has told them 
 right," said Master Cram. "Lankton, will you 
 spell the word just as you were prepared to before 
 these last remarks were made ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Worth, promptly. 
 
 He spelled the word in a strong, clear voice, and 
 passed to the head. There he remained, and had 
 the triumph that night of counting two above all 
 -competitors. 
 
 " I couldn't help it," Lem said, sorrowfully, to 
 Chase, after school. 
 
 " I know you couldn't," replied Chase, hiding his 
 chagrin. "But you mustn't let such a thing hap- 
 pen another time. I just gave myself away, that's 
 all." 
 
THE RACE BEGINS. 97 
 
 "Don't do it again," said Lem. "You mustn't 
 depend on me ; for I — I'm afraid I can't keep up." 
 
 " You must keep up," exclaimed Chase. 
 
 He said all in his power to restore the boy's fail- 
 ing courage. At the same time he secretly resolved 
 to put himself forward and take the prize himself if 
 Lem should fall back. 
 
 And fall back the unlucky fellow did from that 
 time, rapidly enough. Help from his sister, cheer- 
 ing words from Chase, availed little. He had ex- 
 hausted his strength, and it was not long before he 
 was fourth, and then fifth, in the list of competitors. 
 
98 THE POCKET-EIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 NECK AND NECK. 
 
 ¥OETH continued first, and Chase second, in 
 competition for the first prize. One by one 
 the other pupils, who had set out with some hope 
 of gaining it, gave up ; so that, before the end of a 
 month, they two were left alone in the race. 
 
 There was no open quarrel between them; but 
 there was intense rivalry and secret resentment still. 
 They joined in the same sports with the other boys, 
 but had as little to do with each other as possible. 
 
 One day, "Worth could not help taunting Chase 
 with his former pretence. 
 
 "I thought you were not going to try for the 
 prize," he said, with a sneer. 
 
 " Well, I'm not," Chase replied, with a provoking 
 laugh. " I am going to get it without trying." 
 
 "Let's see you," exclaimed "Worth, defiantly. 
 
 " You shall have that satisfaction if you'll wait 
 patiently," said Chase. " But don't be in a hurry ; 
 there'll be time enough before the winter is over." 
 
 It now appeared that the offer of prizes was pro- 
 
NECK AND NECK. 99 
 
 during very different results from those anticipated 
 by Mr. Pavode and Master Cram. If the school 
 was learning to spell, it was not from unusual 
 study, but from watching the game between the 
 real competitors. 
 
 The system worked with the girls much in the 
 same way as with the boys. Laura Fosdick and 
 Susan Webb soon distanced all the rest, and had 
 the field to themselves. 
 
 In the strife for the pocket-rifle and "Mrs. 
 Browning," these four gave their days and nights to 
 their spelling-books, to the neglect of other studies. 
 And certainly, in the case of the two boys, far more 
 serious evils resulted from the struggle. 
 
 In justice to Chase, however, it must be said that, 
 in comparison with Worth, he was really not " try- 
 ing" very hard. He did not spend half so much 
 time over his spelling-book, although he, too, gave 
 to it more than he could afford. 
 
 Worth continued to lead him by two points, until, 
 one day, they were in a list of words ending in eous 
 and ious, preceded by c or t. 
 
 These slight differences in syllables pronounced 
 alike made havoc with the class ; and at last Worth 
 himself, at the head, failed on contumacious. 
 
 The word reached Chase, four places below him. 
 
100 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Now Chase had not studied the lesson so much as 
 Worth had, but he had studied it in a different way. 
 He had fortified his memory by association. Thus 
 he had connected in his mind cetaceous with ceta- 
 cean; ostentatious with ostentation; and in like 
 maimer, contumacious with contumacy; the cy of 
 the latter word guiding him to the ci of its de- 
 rivative. 
 
 He accordingly spelled the word with easy confi- 
 dence, and walked above Worth to the head. 
 
 As he had passed from the head to the foot only 
 the evening before, this was a more brilliant triumph 
 than Worth had achieved when he went above him 
 on the word mullein. 
 
 It was a heavy blow to Worth. He was now 
 but one point ahead ; and the possibility of losing 
 even that filled him with consternation. From 
 that day he studied his spelling-lessons harder 
 than ever. 
 
 At last the speller was finished. Worth still 
 stood above Chase ; and he wished that the prizes 
 might be awarded then and there. But a week still 
 remained before the winter school would close, and 
 Master Cram decided that a review of the book was 
 next in order. 
 
 In going over the old lessons, it was found that 
 
NECK AND NECK. 101 
 
 the good spellers never failed on a really hard word ; 
 the more contorted its orthography, the more firmly 
 it remained fixed in the memory. But now and 
 then a seemingly simple word would trip even the 
 best. 
 
 Both Worth and Chase made curious failures, that 
 week ; but the words they missed being spelled by 
 others of the class standing between them, they did 
 not change places. 
 
 And so came the last day of school, and the last 
 exercise in spelling, which was to decide the ques- 
 tion of the principal prize. 
 
 As Laura Fosdick was four points above her only 
 rival among the girls, she rested in the sweet as- 
 surance that the "Mrs. Browning" was hers. 
 
 But the struggle between the competitors for the 
 pocket-rifle was not yet over. Worth still led by a 
 single point. 
 
 But Chase now stood at the head, and if he 
 kept his place that day, there would be a tie be- 
 tween them. 
 
 The word separate swept the class, and brought 
 Worth, who had passed to the foot the night before, 
 once more to Chase's side. Then the master made 
 this proposition : 
 
 " Since you are all out of the competition except 
 
102 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Atway and Lankton, I think, to save time, I will 
 now put out words only to them." 
 
 This was agreed to ; and all but the two rivals 
 went to their seats. 
 
 "And now," said Master Cram, " since neither of 
 you can win the prize if Atway keeps his position, 
 I propose that the first miss shall decide between 
 you." 
 
 " That is all right," said Chase. 
 
 But Worth, fearing to lose the slightest advan- 
 tage, raised objections. 
 
 " If he misses, and I go up, and stay up, I win 
 the prize any way," he argued. " But if I miss, 
 standing where I am, I don't lose anything, and he 
 don't gain anything." 
 
 " But neither of you will be clearly entitled to the 
 prize," replied Master Cram. 
 
 " Yes," "Worth insisted, " I ought to take it, for 
 if he makes his point, he goes below me, and I am 
 still ahead." 
 
 " But you don't make another point, for there is 
 no school to-morrow," said Master Cram. "And 
 your position don't show that you are the best 
 speller, for you will remember that he voluntarily 
 went below you at the start, when he was entitled 
 to a place above." 
 
KECK AND NECK. 103 
 
 " But he gave his place away," exclaimed Worth. 
 
 "Yes," rejoined Chase, promptly; "and I don't 
 claim anything on that account. Let him have it 
 all his own way." 
 
 The master hesitated, — 
 
 " I think the plan I propose is perfectly fair ; and 
 I will leave it to a vote of the class. I will give 
 out words with perfect impartiality ; and when one 
 misses a word, the other, if he spells it correctly 
 after him, takes the prize." 
 
 This plan was submitted to the class, and there 
 was a unanimous vote in its favor. Worth did not 
 vote at all, but looked his dissatisfaction. 
 
 Then the spelling began. The class, the whole 
 school indeed, watched the game with intense in- 
 terest; some with their spellers open, endeavoring 
 to follow the master as he skipped from page to 
 page. 
 
 Chase came near going down on innuendo, but 
 caught himself just in time, and slipped in the n he 
 had barely escaped omitting. 
 
 " It is sometimes spelt without the second n," he 
 said, laughing. 
 
 "Yes, but incorrectly, according to our author- 
 ity," said the master, turning the leaves. "Insep- 
 arability." 
 
104 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Worth spelled correctly. 
 
 " Impenetrability." 
 
 Chase also spelled without a mistake. Master 
 Cram was about turning the leaves again, but paused 
 to pronounce — "Indefensibility." 
 
 Worth hesitated. 
 
 John Eich had now had time to find the page, 
 and he put his finger on the word. Lem Pavode 
 looked over his shoulder and saw it. 
 
 Now, Lem, since he had given up the prize, was, 
 in the ardor of his gratitude, extremely anxious that 
 Chase should get it, and he was, perhaps, the most 
 excited spectator of the game. 
 
 Worth, flushed and agitated, drawing deep, un- 
 equal breaths, deliberated long ; then ventured, — 
 
 " I-n, in, d-e, de,f-e-7i,fen" — 
 
 Here, unhappily, his mind ran off on the familiar 
 ending of the previous words, — ability, and he 
 proceeded, as if he had been treading among eggs, 
 s-a, sa, b-i-l, biV — 
 
 No need of his going further. He knew by the 
 sensation in the school, and especially by the gleam 
 of joy that lighted up Lem's face, that he had made 
 a fatal blunder. 
 
 Lem could not refrain from screwing up one 
 eye, to indicate the letter missed. Worth saw it. 
 
NECK AND NECK. 105 
 
 Unfortunately, Chase saw it, too ; for Lem sat im- 
 mediately before them, looking over John's finger 
 on the page. 
 
 Chase spelled, however (so he always declared), 
 precisely as he was going to do before Lem made 
 his sign. And the master said, — 
 
 " Correct. Chase Atway, you have won the 
 prize." 
 
106 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE PRIZES. 
 
 THEN, when all was over, Master Cram made a 
 little speech, in which he praised both boys for 
 their industry, congratulated Chase on his success, 
 and reminded Worth that it was necessary one of 
 them should lose. 
 
 Meanwhile, Worth had become quite pale ; and 
 he listened with a stunned expression, as if without 
 heeding a word. 
 
 "I consider," the master went on, " and I am sure 
 the whole school believes, that the trial has been a 
 fair one. And I trust that it will leave no traces of 
 envy or heart-burning with any of you. Whatever 
 irritation may have been caused by it should be for- 
 gotten." 
 
 Chase nodded expressively. Now that he had 
 carried his point, he almost pitied Worth, and 
 yearned to take him once more to his heart. 
 
 But Worth stood stern and dazed. 
 
 Then, having said a good word to the girls, Mas- 
 ter Cram presented the prizes. 
 
THE PRIZES. 107 
 
 Chase did not try to conceal his delight when the 
 beautiful pocket-rifle was finally put into his hands. 
 
 It seemed almost like a dream that the prize 
 which he for a long while had no thought of win- 
 ning, — which he had even hoped at first might be 
 won by his friend, — should at last be his. 
 
 But with this joy came also the thought of his 
 friend — his friend now no more ; and a feeling of 
 pain was mingled with his triumph. 
 
 He was the hero of the hour ; and when school 
 was out, the boys all came about him, to declare 
 that they knew all the while he would beat, and to 
 have another good look at the fine pocket-rifle. 
 
 Worth, however, said nothing. He silently gath- 
 ered up his books, and started for home. 
 
 Chase watched him furtively ; and, pocket-rifle in 
 hand, with his books strapped together, hastened to 
 overtake him. 
 
 The winter had passed since their troubles began. 
 It was now March weather; the snow was nearly 
 gone, except on the high mountain sides ; and the 
 roads were muddy. 
 
 As Worth was slowly picking his way along, 
 Chase came up with him. 
 
 "Well," he began, in a friendly tone, "school is 
 over for you and me till next fall again." 
 
\ 
 
 108 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " So it seems," said Worth. 
 
 "And, see here, Worth," Chase went on, with 
 generous feeling, "this wretched business of com- 
 peting for the prize is over, too." 
 
 "Not very wretched for you, as it turns out," 
 Worth replied. 
 
 "That remains to be seen," said Chase. "I told 
 you once — and I meant it from the bottom of my 
 heart — that there were other things of greater im- 
 portance than a prize, or the honor of gaining a 
 prize." 
 
 "I remember it," said Worth, with a strange 
 smile. 
 
 "I think so more than ever now," Chase pro- 
 ceeded. " You and I are not what we were to each 
 other when school began ; and I'd give a cord of 
 pocket-rifles, if I had them, to be back where we 
 were, with no such bad feelings between us." 
 
 " So would I," exclaimed Worth, with one of his 
 emphatic gestures. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say so," said Chase, with 
 glistening eyes. " Let's be friends again." 
 
 " I wish we might ; " and Worth heaved a big sigh. 
 
 " As for this pocket-rifle, it shall be just as much 
 yours as mine. It's really a nice thing." Chase 
 held it out towards his friend. " See ? " 
 
THE PEIZES. 109 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I see." 
 
 But Worth did not offer to take it. 
 
 "I shall send to town, the first chance, and buy a 
 box of metallic cartridges ; and then you and I will 
 have great fun shooting at marks. We'll take it 
 with us, too, when we go a-hunting. I'll lend it to 
 you whenever you want it." 
 
 Worth gave another strange smile. 
 
 "By the way," said Chase, to change the subject, 
 " when are we going up on the mountain, to tumble 
 off that big rock, as we once agreed ? " 
 
 " I haven't thought of that since," replied Worth. 
 
 They had now reached Mr. Atway's house. 
 Worth was going by again, as he had kept up the 
 habit of doing all winter, when Chase stopped him. 
 
 "Come, Worth! what's the use? Show that we 
 are really friends again by going home the old way 
 for once." 
 
 "Certainly; I'll go that way, and be glad to," 
 said Worth, turning in at the gate. " I didn't know 
 that you wanted me to." 
 
 " Of course I want you to ! " 
 
 Chase accompanied him to the head of the lane. 
 
 " Come up into the sugar-bush some afternoon, 
 won't you ? " he said. " I shall be at work there all 
 next week." 
 
110 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " I'll come and help you," replied Worth. " I owe 
 you some work, you know." 
 
 "I didn't mean that," Chase protested. "But I 
 shall have the cartridges by that time ; and we'll 
 practise firing at a target while watching the kettles." 
 
 To this Worth readily agreed. They stopped to 
 talk a few minutes longer, and at parting Chase put 
 out his hand. 
 
 Worth hesitated a moment, then took it. He held 
 it tremblingly, and when he seemed about to let it 
 go, gripped and wrung it again, looking Chase ear- 
 nestly in the face. 
 
 " Chase," he said, " if I could only see you as you 
 used to be ! " 
 
 " It shan't be my fault if you don't," Chase an- 
 swered, with responsive emotion. 
 
 * Whose fault, then ? " said Worth. " If you are 
 not what I once thought you, that is something I 
 can't help ; I can only grieve over it." 
 
 "Well, I have had something to grieve over, too," 
 replied Chase, after an involuntary start backward. 
 " But what is past is past. Let's forget it." 
 
 " What have you to grieve over ? " cried Worth. 
 " You have played your game ; you have won ; and 
 well you may say, ' Forget the past ! '" 
 
 " Why do you speak in that way ? " said Chase, 
 
THE PRIZES. Ill 
 
 reproachfully. " I think I have as much to forget 
 as anybody. Yes 1 " he exclaimed, " I take it to my- 
 self when I say, ' Let's forget.' " 
 
 Worth turned abruptly away, and Chase thought 
 he was going. But he stopped to hurl back these 
 words, with a dark and lowering look : 
 
 " Do you have to forget that your friend turned 
 traitor and deceived you ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, for that matter," replied Chase, flaring 
 up ; " that is just what I have to forget." 
 
 " Do you mean to say " — began Worth, striding 
 toward him with clenched fist. 
 
 " Don't strike me ! " cried Chase, and he bran- 
 dished the pocket-rifle. 
 
112 THE POCKET-REFLE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVn. 
 
 THE OUTBURST. 
 
 THREATEN me with that, will you ? " said Worth, 
 in a choking fury. " The prize that should have 
 been mine — that is mine, by right — to have it held 
 over my head by the fellow who has robbed me of 
 it ! That's of a piece with all your other actions." 
 
 "I — robbed you of it I " Chase repeated, almost 
 too indignant to speak. 
 
 "Of course you did. I saw Lem Pavode give 
 you the sign for spelling the word I missed." 
 
 " Do you think I couldn't have spelt that easy word 
 without help ? You disgust me, Worth Lankton ! " 
 
 It was now Chase's turn to move angrily away. 
 
 "That was only one of many things," Worth 
 called after him. " It was all unfair. The master 
 and the whole school were against me. Come ! don't 
 run off like a coward. Let's have it out, now we've 
 begun." 
 
 "All right!" exclaimed Chase. " And you'll see 
 whether I'm a coward. The school ivas against you ; 
 do you know why ? Because you insisted on things 
 
THE OUTBURST. 113 
 
 that were mean and dishonorable. That's just the 
 truth about it." 
 
 " Oh, it is, eh? Then why were you so anxious to 
 make friends with me again, if I am such a villain?" 
 
 "Because I wished to be generous. And be- 
 cause," said Chase, "I hoped that you would now 
 come to your senses, which you appeared to have 
 lost the minute this prize was offered." 
 
 " It is fine for you to talk of honor, and losing 
 one's senses ! " retorted Worth. " What did the 
 prize do to you ? A the very time you were pretend- 
 ing that you wanted me to win it, you and Lem 
 Pavode were plotting together to keep it from me. 
 I saw you that first night in the barn." 
 
 "No doubt you spied in upon us if you had a 
 chance," returned Chase. "If Lem could do the 
 husking you shirked, of course I felt bound to help 
 him. And I did want him to win; I'll tell you 
 why." 
 
 "Do!" said Worth. 
 
 " Because, the Saturday night before," Chase went 
 on, "after you had refused to go with me to the 
 school-house and get our spellers, you went and 
 stole in without me, and carried yours home, — and 
 to school, buttoned under your coat the next Mon- 
 day, — and skulked and deceived me about it, or 
 
114 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 tried to deceive me, to the last. But I saw through 
 you all the while." 
 
 Worth was so amazed that he stood and heard all 
 this without a word. 
 
 " Could I forgive or forget that ? " said Chase. " I 
 thought I could just now, but I never can. From 
 first to last you have acted a part of meanness and 
 treachery. Now you know all, and all is over be- 
 tween us." 
 
 Once more he walked away, carrying his head 
 high, and swinging the pocket-rifle. 
 
 Worth watched him till he disappeared in the 
 shed, and then turned and went down the lane, still 
 without uttering a word. 
 
 "Were you having high words with Worth just 
 now?" Mrs. Atway asked, as her son came into the 
 house. 
 
 " I should think so, rather ! " Chase replied, in a 
 state of excitement. 
 
 " I thought you were on good terms again when 
 you came into the yard together, and I was so glad 
 to see it." 
 
 " So we were, or seemed to be." 
 
 "Why, then," said Mrs. Atway, "how did it 
 happen ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; I can't remember ; it was so aw- 
 
THE OUTBURST. 115 
 
 fully sudden," replied Chase. "I said something, or 
 he did, I don't know what or why ! " 
 
 " I am so sorry ! so sorry ! " said his mother. 
 
 " You needn't be ; I am all right ; I shall never 
 try to make up with him again. I never saw such 
 a fellow." 
 
 And Chase recalled what he could of the talk that 
 led to the outburst. 
 
 " It was like firing a boy's Fourth-of-July cannon," 
 he declared. " All the quarrel we have had up to 
 this time was only the burning of the priming. That 
 stopped. Fire all out ; couldn't see a spark ; every- 
 thing quiet ; you could take it to your bosom. Then 
 all at once — bang ! " 
 
 Mrs. Atway gave a sad smile as she went on set- 
 ting the supper-table. She knew his impulsive na- 
 ture. 
 
 " You make merry over it now because you are 
 excited. But you'll feel bad enough when you come 
 to think it over. It's a sad thing to have a quarrel 
 with an old friend and a neighbor." 
 
 "That's so," said Chase. "But I've got the 
 pocket-rifle. You haven't looked at it yet." 
 
 " No," replied Mrs. Atway, " and I don't care to, 
 since it has been the cause of your trouble. Put it 
 away." 
 
116 
 
 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Chase rather ruefully hung it up by the skeleton- 
 breech on a hook in the entry. 
 
 "And now, my son," she went on, "you must 
 begin to think of something else. You would have 
 
 been taken out of school two weeks ago to help 
 about the sugar-making if it hadn't been for the 
 prize you wanted to stay and win. You've got it 
 now, the winter school is over, and you must think 
 about work." 
 
 " That's so ! " Chase replied again ; " but remem- 
 ber, 'all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, 1 
 
THE OUTBURST. 117 
 
 — especially when he has a pocket-rifle for the first 
 time in his life ! " 
 
 " Don't leave your books here on the table ! " cried 
 his mother, as he was going to his room. 
 
 "I'll take care of 'em by-and-by," he replied, 
 carelessly. 
 
 " That means, I shall have them to take care of 
 myself, as it almost always turns out. Take them 
 now ! " she insisted. 
 
 So Chase laughingly went back and got his books, 
 knowing very well how much trouble his boyish 
 negligence often gave her. 
 
 Her eyes followed him lovingly. He was a good 
 son, and she was a most tender and affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 " After all," thought she, espousing his side in the 
 quarrel far more warmly than she cared to let him 
 know, " I can't blame him for breaking off with that 
 Lankton boy ! " 
 
 And she felt proud of his brave and manly spirit. 
 
 Chase took off his school-suit, and put on some 
 old farm-clothes; then went out to do the usual 
 evening chores. 
 
 He had the pigs to feed, the horses to water, and 
 the cows to milk; and he set himself cheerily 
 about these tasks. During the winter, he had had 
 
118 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 his father's help in doing them ; but now Mr. Atway 
 was at work in the sugar-bush with his hired man. 
 
 The box of metallic cartridges was sent for the 
 next day. It cost seventy-five cents ; but Chase 
 had money of his own which his father had allowed 
 him to earn in various ways, so that he was always 
 able to buy his own ammunition. 
 
 That was Saturday. The loaded shells did not 
 come until night ; and he had to wait over Sunday 
 — how impatiently, no boy needs to be told — for 
 an opportunity to try a shot. 
 
 Mr. Atway's sugar-bush was a part of the very 
 woods Chase and Worth had traversed that Saturday 
 afternoon, months before, when they went hunting 
 up on the mountain-side. And now, when the 
 longed-for Monday came, the forest arches might 
 have been heard ringing again, not with loud fowl- 
 ing-pieces, but with the sharper reports of the pocket- 
 rifle. 
 
 Chase had always been a favorite with his school- 
 fellows, and now the possession of so desirable a 
 plaything made him more popular than ever. 
 
 Worth Lankton saw John Eich and Lem Pavode 
 cross the intervale and go up into the woods above 
 the pastures that Monday ; and he wandered near 
 enough to hear shouts of laughter break in as 
 
THE OUTBURST. 119 
 
 chorus to the rifle-shots, filling the forests with glad 
 sounds. 
 
 But they were not glad sounds to Worth. 
 
 He knew very well that he might have been one 
 of that merry party. He knew, too, that it was 
 more his fault than anybody's else that he was cut 
 off from these boyish sports. But reflections of 
 that sort did not soothe him ; on the contrary they 
 added thorns to his sense of wrong. 
 
120 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIH. 
 
 THE CATTLE MAKE MISCHIEF. 
 
 HE had his dog with him. It was a young dog, 
 that had been in the possession of the family 
 but a few months ; a great, gaunt, yellowish-brown 
 puppy, full of savage play. 
 
 As Worth was crossing the upland with this brute, 
 he saw a sight which, in his present mood, prompted 
 him to mischief. 
 
 Old "Whiteface had not leaped any fence lately. 
 The hamper Chase suggested had been put on him, 
 and kept on, when he was let into the pasture in 
 the fall ; and he had not yet been turned out that 
 spring. 
 
 But the cattle were now roaming about. And 
 the fences were worse than ever. And it chanced 
 that a half-demolished haystack, over in Mr. Lank- 
 ton's meadow, attracted their attention. 
 
 To hungry yearlings that have been fed on corn- 
 fodder all winter, a change of diet is acceptable ; 
 and even sober old cows that have been more gener- 
 
THE CATTLE MAKE MISCHIEF. 121 
 
 ously nourished may be excused for tossing up their 
 horns and growing frolicsome, on a March afternoon, 
 at the sight of an inviting stack. 
 
 At that time of year the young grass and clover 
 have hardly begun to sprout ; the pastures but pro- 
 voke an appetite they cannot appease ; and hay is 
 hay. 
 
 How the drove got over the fence was no great 
 mystery. Even the enclosure about the stack was 
 but a poor affair ; and in crowding for the sweet red- 
 top and timothy they had soon broken that down. 
 
 And there, voraciously feeding, or tearing the 
 stack with their wanton horns, they were discovered 
 by Worth, returning from the upland with his dog. 
 
 Now, "Worth Lankton was by no means a cruel 
 boy. But he was very angry — angry with Chase, 
 and everything that belonged to him. The sight of 
 a neighbor's cattle doing such damage would have 
 been irritating at any time. No wonder, then, that 
 in his present mood he was inflamed with unreasoning 
 passion. 
 
 Besides, with a boy's pride in a new dog, he had 
 long wished for a chance to prove his prowess by 
 setting him on to something bjg. 
 
 He started forward, and caught up a stick, mut- 
 tering, — 
 
122 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " We've been troubled enough with Atway's 
 creatures, one way and another ! I'll put a stop 
 to it. Come, Nero ! " 
 
 Nero sprang to his master's side, eager for the 
 sport. 
 
 It was "Worth's intention, with the club he had 
 caught up, and with smart punishment from the dog, 
 to drive the cattle back into the field where they 
 belonged. 
 
 But a savagely-inclined, unpractised puppy is not 
 easy to manage in the excitement of battle, — if 
 that can be called a battle which was a mere rout 
 of the invaders. 
 
 No doubt it was a wild triumph to Nero to see 
 the whole drove, a dozen cows and yearlings, take 
 to flight, and carry their horns away in mad panic, 
 while he dashed after them furiously, barking, snap- 
 ping, and dodging their heels. 
 
 It was joy to the dog's master, too. He cried, 
 " Seek ! seek 'em, Nero ! " and hurled his revolving 
 club. 
 
 But the cantering cattle had, in their alarm, 
 started off in the wrong dh'ection. Instead of re- 
 treating to their own pasture, they plunged blindly 
 away across the enemy's country. 
 
 Seeing this, Worth tried to call off his dog. But 
 
^SfrfR 
 
 
 
 mami^ m IT 
 
THE CATTLE MAKE MISCHIEF. 123 
 
 Nero was deaf and blind to everything but the sport 
 of which he was having his first maddening taste. 
 
 " Stop 'em ! Head 'em off ! " Worth called out to 
 a man approaching from the other side of the field. 
 
 But the man simply stood still, and watched the 
 show sweep by. 
 
 " Curis, ain't it," he said, " to see a crowd of crit- 
 ters like that turn tail fcr a pup they might hook to 
 death in five minutes, if they only kno wed how? 
 So much for ignorance ; not knowin' how to look 
 after their own interests," he added, with a droll 
 wink, and a twitch of one side of his face. 
 
 The man was, in fact, our philosophical friend, 
 Jim Lathbrook, whom we first saw lying on the 
 sunny side of the great boulder on the mountain 
 crest. 
 
 Worth paid no attention to his remarks, but ex- 
 claimed angrily, — 
 
 "Why didn't you stop 'em? I told you to, you 
 lazy lummox ! " 
 
 " Stop 'em ! " Jim Lathbrook repeated, with a 
 sarcastic grin. " That would be an easy thing, 
 wouldn't it, with a yelpin' cur at their heels, and a 
 yellin' boy with a club ! " 
 
 Worth slackened his pace, out of breath. 
 
 " Ye can't blame the cattle for runnin' the wrong 
 
124 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 way," said Jim. " I seen you pitch into 'em ; I seen 
 you club and dog 'em. I may be a lazy lummox, 
 but I'm glad I ain't the boy that tries to drive out a 
 neighbor's cows in that fashion." 
 
 There was too keen an edge of truth to these 
 words for Worth not to feel cut by them. He 
 would never have believed that a time could come 
 when he would wish to defend his conduct in the 
 eyes of so low a fellow as Jim Lathbrook. But it 
 had come now. 
 
 " We've borne enough from Atway's creatures, 
 and I've got tired of it," he explained, passing on. 
 
 " Cattle ain't to blame ; why beat and dog them?" 
 said Jim. 
 
 " Would you have me beat and dog their own- 
 ers ? " cried Worth. 
 
 " No, not unless I was bigger and smarter'n you 
 be," said Jim, his narrow gray eyes sparkling; 
 "might be dangerous. But I'll tell ye what I would 
 do. I'd drive their cattle into my own yard, and 
 shet 'em up, and make their owners come for 'em, 
 and give 'em a good lesson when they did come ! " 
 
 " By George ! you're right ! " exclaimed Worth. 
 " I never thought of that." 
 
 Jim's eye twitched vivaciously. 
 
 " The Damon-and-Pythias business has ruther 
 
THE CATTLE MAKE MISCHIEF. 125 
 
 played out, hain't it? " he called after Worth as he 
 was hurrying away. " Say ! remember what I said 
 to ye that day up on the mountain there ? " 
 
 Worth deigned no reply, and Jim contented him- 
 self with casting his eyes carelessly up at the great 
 dark boulder, still hanging there on the brown 
 mountain crag, revealed against the afternoon sky. 
 
 Meanwhile, Worth's brother Tim, attracted by. 
 the barking and shouting, came running to see the 
 sport. 
 
 He reached the fence which the cattle were ap- 
 proaching, when Worth called out to him, — 
 
 " Let down three or four rails ! I want to drive 
 'em through !- Quick ! " 
 
 Down went a corner of the fence under the hands 
 of the excited Tim. 
 
 "Now stand one side, and help hustle 'em 
 through ! " yelled Worth. 
 
 A minute later, the rails were put up again, with 
 the cattle on the further side, and Nero still after 
 them. 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " Tim asked. 
 
 " I'll show you, and I'll show Chase Atway, too ! " 
 replied Worth. " Come on 1 " 
 
126 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 IN THE StTGAK-BTJSH. 
 
 JIM LATHBROOK lounged away towards the 
 rocky upland, glancing back occasionally, and 
 finally disappeared in the woods. 
 
 An occasional crack of the pocket-rifle was still 
 heard. It grew louder as he advance 7 , and soon he 
 discovered the boys at their sport. 
 
 Near the camp-fire and boiling kettles was a hut 
 of rough boards, built to replace a sugar-house that 
 had been burnt two years before. It was used for 
 storing sap-buckets, and for sheltering those who 
 remained to tend the kettles in bad weather and at 
 night. 
 
 On the side of this hut was pinned a newspaper, 
 with a dead leaf at the centre. That was the tar- 
 get. 
 
 All around were the sturdy stems and open 
 spaces of the great woods, with sap-buckets under 
 dripping spiles at every maple-trunk. The mighty 
 tops, high above, were bare, and through them 
 could be seen slowly-drifting, mottled clouds, like 
 
IN THE SUGAK-BUSH. 127 
 
 crowded fleeces of white wool, with here and there 
 patches of blue sky. 
 
 The run of sap was about over for the day. Mr. 
 Atway and his hired man were gathering it up from 
 the buckets in a distant part of the sugar-bush. 
 Chase, left to keep the fire burning, and the kettles 
 supplied, was sitting on a log, talking with John 
 Eich and Lem Pavode, and loading his pocket-rifle. 
 
 " That's a dreffle cute thing ! " said Jim Lath- 
 brook, coming up. " I've seen it afore to-day. The 
 chap that boarded With Lem's folks used to have it ; 
 said it cost him a dozen dollars in Boston." 
 
 " Would you like to try a shot with it, Jim ? " 
 said Chase, generously. 
 
 "Guess them little bits of ca'tridges cost ye 
 suthin', don't they?" said Jim, with his one-sided 
 wink and twitch. " I don't mind sp'ilin' one for ye, 
 though, if you say so." 
 
 "You may spoil one since I ask you to," replied 
 Chase ; " and you're always welcome to a drink of 
 syrup when you're invited." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" said Jim, pausing 
 as he was about to take aim. 
 
 " They do say," laughed Chase, " that you make it 
 a point to come this way whenever you go up over 
 the mountain, and that you do manage, you and 
 
128 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 your wife, between you, to make away with a quan- 
 tity of syrup ! " 
 
 " That's some of your hired man's nonsense, I 
 know," said Jim, with a wink. "Me and your 
 father 's old friends, and he's too big-hearted a man 
 to begruteh me a drop of hot maple syrup now and 
 then on a cold day, I can swear ! " 
 
 So saying, he fired his shot. While the boys 
 walked up to the target, he stopped at the kettles, 
 took down a long-handled dipper from its nail in a 
 tree, dipped up about a pint of the steaming dark 
 liquor from the " sweet kettle," and half sunk it in a 
 cask of fresh sap, to cool it. 
 
 " O Jim ! you didn't come within half a yard of 
 the leaf ! " cried Chase from the hut, after finding 
 the hole cut by the little bullet in the newspaper. 
 
 "Wal, I didn't expect to," said Jim, taking the 
 dipper out of the sap and beginning to blow and sip 
 the syrup. "But le' me take that pop-gun and prac- 
 tise with it some day, and then I'll show you what 
 shootin' is." 
 
 He blew and sipped, and added, — 
 
 " I'm a friend of yours, Chase ; and le' me tell 
 you, if I was in your place I'd be usin' up my 
 ca'tridges and shootin' at suthin' 'sides a dead leaf 
 on the side of a shanty. There's game for ye down 
 
IN THE SUGAR-BUSH. 129 
 
 there in the valley, if you only knowed it," — 
 sip, sip. 
 
 " What game ? " cried Chase. 
 
 " That yaller pup of Lankton's. He was givin' 
 your cows Jesse, I tell you, as I come up past the 
 meaders jest now." 
 
 " He was after our cows ! " 
 
 "Yes, and Worth Lankton — your Damon-Pythias 
 feller — he was after 'em, too, with a club; and 
 'twixt 'em both" — sip, sip, again — " the poor crit- 
 ters was gittin' rather the wust on't." 
 
 Chase flared up with sudden excitement. Target 
 and sap-kettles were forgotten. 
 
 " Are you joking, Jim Lathbrook ? " 
 
 " There ain't much of a joke about it," said Jim. 
 " Anyhow the cattle didn't seem to think there was. 
 If it ain't jes' 's I tell ye," he added, holding the 
 dipper ready for another sip, "I hope I may never 
 drink anything so good as this ag'in ! " 
 
 " Did he get 'em back into our pasture ? " cried 
 Chase. 
 
 " No ; he druv 'em home to his own yard ; guess 
 you can see 'em now from the rocky knolls below 
 here," said Jim. 
 
 "Boys, I'm going for 'em ! " exclaimed Chase. 
 "Will you stay and tend the kettles?" 
 
130 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 "I'll go and help you get the cattle," said Lem 
 Pavode. 
 
 " And I'll go and see the fun," said John Kich ; 
 " and help a little, if necessary." 
 
 " I'll tend the kittles," said Jim Lathbrook. 
 
 " And when pa comes with the sap, tell him where 
 I've gone," cried Chase, starting off with his com- 
 panions, pocket-rifle in hand. 
 
 Jim watched them. 
 
 " I should like to see the fun, too," he said to him- 
 self. " But I guess there'll be about as much satis- 
 faction loafin' here by the fire. Quarrels is interest- 
 in', but they don't pay." 
 
 And he drank and winked. 
 
THE POCKET-RIFLE COMES IN PLAY. 131 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 THE POCKET-RIFLE COMES IN PLAT. 
 
 MEANWHILE, having driven the cattle into his 
 father's barnyard, and put up the bars, Worth 
 Lankton pulled Nero away from them by main force, 
 and with Tim's help got a rope around his neck. 
 
 He sat on an overturned measure in the open 
 barn-door, holding the dog, and fanning his flushed 
 face with his hat, when Tim, who had been left to 
 keep watch outside, came running around the corner 
 of the stable. 
 
 " They're coming ! " he cried. 
 
 " Who are coming ! " Worth asked, starting up, 
 but sitting down again immediately, determined to 
 appear cool. 
 
 " I don't know — three or four fellows — Chase is 
 one ! They'll be here in a minute." 
 
 " Let 'em come ! " 
 
 And Worth kept on fanning himself. 
 
 " Here they are ! " said Tim, hearing the rush of 
 feet. 
 
 And running into the barn, he stood behind his 
 
132 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 big brother and the dog, while Chase, red with 
 haste and rage, came around the corner, followed 
 by John Kich and Lem Pavode. 
 
 Worth put on his hat and clutched Nero's rope 
 with both hands. 
 
 "What are you doing with our cattle?" said 
 Chase. 
 
 " Taking care of 'em ; waiting for their owners to 
 come and get 'em," said Worth. 
 
 "You've been dogging and clubbing 'em," said 
 Chase. 
 
 "I've been driving 'em up; dog helped," said 
 Worth. 
 
 " What were you driving 'em up for ? What 
 business have you with our cattle, any way ? " 
 
 Chase had walked up to the barn ; and, as he 
 said this, he stood within six feet of Worth, his hat 
 thrown back on his sweaty forehead, his eyes flash- 
 ing, and one hand grasping the pocket-rifle. 
 
 Worth assumed an air of insolent indifference, 
 and answered, — 
 
 " Your cattle had broken into our lot, and got at 
 our haystack ; and I rather think it was my business, 
 to take care of 'em ! " 
 
 " Then why didn't you drive 'em back into our 
 pasture ? " 
 
THE POCKET-KIFLE COMES IN PLAY. 133 
 
 " What good would that do ? They would break 
 in again the first chance they had." 
 
 " That's because you've such shiftless fences," said 
 Chase. " They're not fit to keep sheep and lambs 
 from jumping." 
 
 " We'll take care of our own fences," said Worth. 
 " Take care of your horses and cattle ; that's all I've 
 got to say." 
 
 "Don't you drive any of 'em up to your yard 
 again, and don't set your dog on 'em, Worth Lank- 
 ton, if you know what's good for him and you ! " 
 said Chase, with menacing eyes and voice. 
 
 " I shall drive 'em up, and set my dog on 'em, if 
 they're found in our lot again," replied Worth. " It's 
 time to put a stop to this-nonsense." 
 
 " You're going a pretty way to. work to put a stop 
 to it ! " Chase retorted. 
 
 " Why don't you do something yourself, then ? " 
 
 "Haven't I done something? Didn't I hamper 
 Old Whiteface last fall ? I've done everything I 
 could ; but your tumble-down fences have rotted 
 out so during the winter, that if a calf goes to 
 scratch his hide against a rail, down rattles a whole 
 length or two. Mend y6ur part of the fences ; that 
 is the only way to stop the nonsense. Lem, let 
 down those bars ! " 
 
134 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Worth started up. 
 
 " Lem Pavode, don't you touch those bars ! " 
 
 "What's that?" cried Chase. "How can I get 
 my cattle out unless we let down the bars ? " 
 
 "Easy enough," said Worth. " Take 'em through 
 the gate." 
 
 As the gate opened out of the other side of the 
 yard, into the long private way that led past the 
 house, and over the bridge, to the public road, 
 Chase answered this proposition with a jeering laugh. 
 
 " Guess you can't prevent me from driving 'em 
 back the way they came ! " he said. 
 
 "I can prevent your crossing our fields, and I 
 will ! " said Worth. 
 
 " Think I'm going all the way round the road 
 with 'em?" Chase demanded. 
 
 " You will if you take 'em away at all ! " replied 
 Worth ; " unless you can manage to float 'em up 
 the river, or carry 'em through the air. As for 
 crossing our land with 'em, that you can't do 1 " 
 
 "Where's your father? " Chase asked. 
 
 "He has gone away and left me in charge of 
 things. Oh, I'm master here, Chase Atway ! " 
 
 And Worth stood erect, grim and defiant, holding 
 with one hand the rope, which fell across his knees, 
 and patting Nero's neck with the other. 
 
THE POCKET-RIFLE COMES IN PLAY. 135 
 
 " Chase ! " called John Rich, " this steer's hind 
 legs are all dripping with blood, where that dog has 
 bitten him ! " 
 
 Chase went and looked at the steer's legs. He 
 was almost beside himself at the sight. 
 
 " Worth Lankton ! " he said, " if ever your half- 
 starved, dirty-looking, mean boy's whelp touches 
 one of our creatures again, he dies ! I give you 
 fair warning." 
 
 " Kill him, and you'll have him to pay for ! " said 
 the dog's owner. 
 
 " That won't take much. I don't know who else 
 would have such a homely, slab-sided, miserable, 
 mongrel pup as that ! But he goes very well with 
 your broken fences and sagging gates ; and a jury 
 might give you three cents damages, if you sued me 
 for killing him." 
 
 No boy likes to have his dog ridiculed. Worth 
 was exasperated. "Say much," he cried, "and Til 
 let him come at you ! " 
 
 " Let him come," replied Chase, " if you want to 
 see him get a bullet between the eyes. Lem, let 
 down those bars ! " 
 
 Worth made a dozen quick steps to the bars, 
 taldng Nero with him. Lem, who was about to 
 obey his friend, drew himself aside. 
 
136 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 "I'll take 'em down myself, then," said Chase, 
 " and let who dares hinder me ! " 
 
 " See here, Chase !" said John Rich. " I wouldn't ! 
 Take the cattle home around by the road ; Lem and 
 I will help you." 
 
 Chase's friends, being less angry, were more cau- 
 tious and far more reasonable than he. Lem joined 
 with John in urging him not to insist on what they 
 believed Worth had a right to forbid, and at last he 
 yielded to their persuasions, 
 
 The sagging gate was lifted, and swung around 
 in the curved furrow it had cut for its outer leg in 
 the dark soil, and the cattle were driven through. 
 
 " Shut the gate after you ! " cried Worth, from 
 the bars where he stood guard with Nero. 
 
 " Shut your own gate ! " returned Chase ; " and 
 straighten it up on its rotten hinges, if you expect 
 me ever to open it again ! " 
 
 He was walking off with John and Lem, driving 
 the cattle towards the bridge, when something shot 
 by him, with a growl and a rush of swift feet. It 
 was Nero. 
 
 Worth had slipped the rope from his neck, think- 
 ing, as he afterwards declared, that the cattle were 
 safe out of his way. But to the boys driving the 
 herd it looked very much as if the dog was launched 
 
THE POCKET-RIFLE COMES IN PLAY. 137 
 
 in answer to Chase Atway's last taunt. Be that as 
 it might, the brute thought only of renewing the 
 bloody game in the midst of which he had been 
 interrupted. 
 
 In a moment he had fixed his jaws in the hind 
 leg of Mr. Atway's kindest old cow, just above the 
 gambrel-joint — the favorite hold of a certain ignoble 
 class of dogs that lack courage for an attack in front. 
 
 The cow bellowed, and tried in vain to shake him 
 off. John Kich ran up. 
 
 " Keep back ! " Chase shouted, levelling his rifle. 
 " I'll fix him ! " 
 
 " Don't shoot ! don't shoot ! " yelled Worth, rush- 
 ing from the yard. 
 
 But too late. 
 
 "Worth hardly heard the light crack of the rifle as 
 he ran ; but he saw the puff of smoke, and thought 
 at first it was a blank shot, meant to frighten rather 
 than hurt. 
 
 Nero still clung to the cow ; for a moment only, 
 however; then, losing his hold, he whirled about 
 two or three times, with his head at his side, uttering 
 a whining yelp. 
 
 " There's your dog ; now take care of him ! " cried 
 Chase, slipping another shell into the little breech- 
 loader. 
 
138 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Instead of flying at the herd again, Nero went 
 whimpering and cringing to his young master's feet. 
 
 " You've done for him ! " said Lem Pavode, very 
 pale. 
 
 " I guess not," said John Eich. " But he's hurt a 
 little ; and good enough for him ! " 
 
 " I gave fair warning ! " exclaimed Chase. " I'm 
 not going to have our cattle torn to pieces by any- 
 body's whelp." 
 
 Worth, meanwhile, examining the dog, found a 
 small red trickling stream making its way down his 
 gaunt and tawny side. 
 
 He rose up from his stooping posture, and shook 
 his clenched hand at Chase. 
 
 " This is the sorriest day's work you ever did ! " 
 said he. " Coming here, on our land, to shoot my 
 dog with my own pocket-rifle ! " 
 
 " Your pocket-rifle ! " sneered Chase. 
 
 " Mine by right. But whether yours or mine, you 
 won't have it long, I can tell you that ! " 
 
 " Oh ! I won't, eh? Maybe you'd like to take it 
 away from me now. You're welcome to try." 
 
 And Chase, having started on after the cattle, 
 turned and faced Worth, with scornful defiance. 
 
 " It's brave in you to stand there with a loaded 
 weapon, and two boys to back you ! " said Worth.' 
 
THE POCKET-RIFLE COMES IN PLAY. 139 
 
 "My time hasn't come yet ; but it will come. I can 
 wait. You've killed my dog, Chase Atway ! " 
 
 Chase was troubled to see the poor brute stretched 
 out there, bleeding, on the ground. It was not a 
 lovely deed he had done, and he knew it. But he 
 answered stoutly, — 
 
 " It's all your own fault, Worth Lankton. You 
 might have kept him back. Now you may sue ; you 
 may threaten to get my pocket-rifle ; I've done just 
 what I should do over again, and I'm not to be 
 frightened ! " 
 
 He walked on a little way further, then turned 
 again, feeling impelled to say a last word in self- 
 defence. 
 
 "If your dog gets well, or if ever you have an- 
 other, my advice to you is, not to set him on to our 
 cattle twice the same day, when I am around." 
 
 " My time will come ; and that before long ! " 
 was all the answer Worth made, as he bent down 
 once more over Nero. 
 
140 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 worth's revenge. 
 
 I COULDN'T help it, could I?" said Chase to his 
 companions, as they followed the cattle over the 
 bridge. 
 
 " I don't see how you could ; and I'd have shot 
 him if I'd been in your place," said John Rich. 
 
 " Anybody would," said Lem. " His father won't 
 sue you, and I don't see how Worth can get your 
 rifle." 
 
 "You heard him threaten to, didn't you? Now 
 we'll see what his threats amount to ! " said Chase. 
 
 He was, nevertheless, greatly disturbed in his 
 mind by what had happened. He kept constantly 
 appealing to his comrades for approval of his con- 
 duct, and pointing at the cattle's bloody legs. 
 
 The hardest thing for him now was to tell his 
 father what he had done. Having driven the cattle 
 home, around by the road, and got them into their 
 own yard, he wanted the boys to go with him up 
 into the woods, and bear Witness in his favor. 
 
woeth's revenge. 141 
 
 But John Rich said, "I guess I must go home 
 now ; it's getting late." 
 
 " So must I," said Lem ; "I've got the chores to 
 do." 
 
 And in spite of Chase's entreaties, they presently 
 went off together. 
 
 " I'm glad / didn't shoot that dog ! ain't you ? '" 
 said John Rich ; " though nobody can blame Chase." 
 
 " That's so ! " said Lem. " He gave fair warning. 
 It's an awful bad job, though ; and father '11 be sorry, 
 I guess, he ever offered such a prize to the school." 
 
 Worth stayed by the dog, and watched his suffer- 
 ings, until an overpowering desire for vengeance 
 took possession of him. 
 
 He walked on past the orchard, and looking over 
 towards Mr. Atway's house, saw somebody going 
 down the lane. It was Chase on his way to the 
 sugar-bush, to convey the unpleasant tidings to his 
 father. 
 
 Worth drew back out of sight, and ran past the 
 barn. When finally discovered by Chase, he was 
 walking fast across the fields towards the haystack 
 which the cattle had attacked. 
 
 He pretended to be putting up the rails there, 
 when Chase went by, about thirty rods off, on the 
 other side of the boundary fence. 
 
142 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Chase carried his pocket-rifle ; and that was what 
 Worth was really there to see. They did not appear 
 to take any notice of each other : Worth seemed 
 busy repairing the broken enclosure ; and Chase 
 passed on in silence, although strongly inclined to 
 stop and ask after the wounded dog. 
 
 Having put up the fence in a fashion, Worth sat 
 on it, brooding over his wrongs, and meditating re- 
 venge ; until, moved by a desperate impulse, he 
 jumped down and followed Chase towards the 
 woods. The night was settling down prematurely, 
 with darkening clouds ; but the angry boy cared 
 little for that. 
 
 In the meantime, Chase had found his father at 
 the sugar-camp, and told him truthfully all that had 
 happened. 
 
 "Boy!" exclaimed Mr. Atway, with as black a 
 scowl as was ever seen on his face ; " now you've 
 got us into a fine scrape ! " 
 
 " I'm sorry ! But, pa, if you knew just how it 
 was" — stammered Chase. 
 
 " I know near enough. No doubt it. was a great 
 provocation. And I was afraid on't," said his father. 
 " Lathbrook told me about the Lankton boy's dog- 
 ging our cattle and driving 'em home, and your 
 starting after them with your pesky pocket-rifle. 
 
worth's revenge. 1 13 
 
 I wouldn't have had it happen for a hundred dol- 
 lars." 
 
 " Neither would I," said Chase. " But would you 
 have had me — " 
 
 " Stand by and see the cur tear our cattle ? " cried 
 his father. " No ; but you could have kicked and 
 beaten him off; no need to have shot him. So 
 much for carrying deadly weapons ! " 
 
 Chase looked ruefully at the pi*ize he was lately so 
 proud of, but which he now almost wished he had 
 never seen. 
 
 " Is it loaded ? " Mr. Atway inquired. 
 
 For answer, Chase pressed the spring, threw up 
 the breech, and withdrew the unexploded shell. 
 
 "There ! " said his father ; "put it away now, and 
 don't you load it again till I give you permission." 
 
 Chase went obediently and hung up the dangerous 
 plaything in the hut. 
 
 "Stay and help Tomkins finish up here," said 
 Mr. Atway. " I'll go down and look after the cat- 
 tle, and do the chores, and see Lankton, if I can, 
 about the dog." 
 
 He set off at a quick pace, but stopped when he 
 had gone a little way in the dusky woods, and 
 looked back at Chase, punching the fire. 
 
 " There's a storm brewing," said he. " I shouldn't 
 
144 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 wonder if we got snow before morning ; feels like 
 it. Perhaps you'd better turn over the sap-buckets. 
 Tell Tomkins." 
 
 " All right," said Chase, standing in the glow of 
 the fire, by the boiling kettles. 
 
 He was glad of something to do ; and, taking a 
 couple of pails to gather up the last drippings of the 
 sap, he set out to turn over the buckets while he 
 could yet see to work in the fast darkening woods. 
 
 Tomkins carried the sap to the camp ; and after 
 making two or three trips, came back to Chase with 
 a startling question. 
 
 " Who is that feller prowlin' about the woods' 
 down there ? " 
 
 " Where ? What fellow ? " said Chase. 
 
 " I've seen him twice," replied Tomkins. " Fust 
 time, he seemed to be comin' up towards the kittle 
 from below ; he wasn't fur from the log where you 
 fired at the mark." 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me? " Chase asked, in some 
 alarm. 
 
 " I didn't know but what it was one of the boys 
 that was with you this afternoon," said Tomkins ; 
 " though I thought he was ruther skulkin' in his 
 movements. But jest now I see him nearer to. He 
 6lunk away from the camp jest as I was a-comin' up." 
 
worth's revenge. 145 
 
 " Did you speak to him ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I says, ' Good-evenin'. Did ye want any- 
 thing ? ' But he jest hurried away, and got out of 
 sight as quick as he could." 
 
 " Did you know him? " 
 
 " I wasn't nigh enough ; it was too dark to make 
 out his face," said Tomkins. " But his hat, his gait, 
 all his movements, even to the stoop in his shoulders, 
 was for all the world like that oldest Lankton boy, 
 Worth." 
 
 " Are you sure ? " cried Chase. 
 
 "Wal, I'm sure enough; though, as I said, I 
 couldn't swear to the featur's. More I think on't," 
 added Tomkins, "better satisfied I am 'twas him, 
 and no mistake." 
 
 Chase dropped everything, and hurried to the 
 camp. 
 
 He ran to the hut and felt for the nail on which 
 he had hung the pocket-rifle. The nail was there, 
 but the pocket-rifle was gone. 
 
146 THE POCKET-1UFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXH. 
 
 PEACE OR WAR? 
 
 MR. ATWAY sat milking the cow by the last 
 glimmer of the early and brief March twilight, 
 when he heard footsteps hurrying up the lane, and 
 saw a dark figure pass quickly through the yard. 
 
 " Is that you, Chase ? " he called. And all out of 
 breath with running and excitement, the boy turned 
 back. 
 
 " What's the matter now ? " said his father. 
 
 In a dozen broken words, or rather gasps, Chase 
 told him, standing there by his father's side in the 
 deep dusk. 
 
 " 'Tain't possible "Worth Lankton would do such a 
 thing as that ! " exclaimed the farmer. " The rifle 
 must be there in the hut." 
 
 " No, I'm sure it is not ! " said Chase. "When I 
 found it was gone, I started to follow him. But I 
 thought there might be some mistake ; so I went 
 back and lit the lantern, and had a thorough search. 
 It was gone, and Tomkins is sure the fellow he saw 
 prowling around there was Worth Lankton." 
 
PEACE OR WAE. 147 
 
 " I am afraid it was," said Mr. Atway. " For, to 
 tell the truth, I saw him myself when I was coming 
 out of the sugar-bush. He was in the edge of the 
 woods, and he stepped behind a tree, as if to wait 
 for me to pass. I had no idea he would do so des- 
 perate a thing, or I Would have gone back." 
 
 "What can we do about it?" Chase anxiously 
 inquired. 
 
 "I don't know," said the farmer ; and Chase could 
 almost see the troubled frown on his face in the 
 darkness. " A pretty snarl we are getting into with 
 our neighbors, thanks to your pocket-rifle ! I'll go 
 over to Lankton's after supper, and see if I can 
 straighten out things a little." 
 
 The matter was talked over seriously at the sup- 
 per-table ; then Mr. Atway, taking out of the cellar- 
 way an old tin lantern, full of holes (the other lantern 
 was in the woods), lighted a bit of candle to put into 
 it, and set off on his uncomfortable errand. 
 
 Chase wanted to go with him, but his father 
 
 " You boys have managed this business about long 
 enough ; now, the less you have to do with it the 
 better." 
 
 So all that was left for Chase to do, was to watch 
 the little moving sphere of sprinkled rays as it accom- 
 
148 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 panied his father down the dark lane, across the 
 bridge, and along the silent and dark river bank, 
 until it disappeared in the direction of Mr. Lank- 
 ton's house. 
 
 Mr. Atway went to this interview fully determined 
 to be perfectly calm and kind. But his heart beat 
 fast when he reached the door, and held, the lantern 
 before him to find the steps. 
 
 The streaming rays fell upon a tawny shape out- 
 stretched at his very feet. It was Nero. He did 
 not lie like a dog asleep. Mr. Atway remarked a 
 certain stiffness about the neck and limbs. He put 
 down his hand to touch him, but drew it back with a 
 start and heavy sigh. The dog would never trouble 
 anybody's cattle any more. He was stone-dead. 
 
 For a moment, Mr. Atway was sorry he had 
 come. He would have turned about and gone home 
 if he had not thought his lantern might have been 
 seen by the family. So he knocked. 
 
 Mrs. Lankton came to the door, looking sadly 
 disquieted at sight of the neighbor. 
 
 " I came to see about your dog," he began, in a 
 voice full of pain and compassion, "and I am sorry 
 — sorry — to find he is dead." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Lankton, coldly; "your boy 
 shot him." 
 
PEACE OR WAK. 149 
 
 " I regret it, I regret it more than if it had been 
 the best cow on my place ! " said Mr. Atway, set' 
 ting down his lantern on the step, and entering in 
 compliance with a feeble motion she made ; " and 
 I have come to see your folks about it. Lankton, 
 good evening." 
 
 Mr. Lankton was sitting in a far corner by the 
 stove, in the dimly lighted kitchen. He did not 
 rise, indeed he hardly looked up at their visitor, but 
 answered gloomily, " Good evening, Mr. Atway." 
 
 The Mister was noticeable — that form of address 
 being seldom used by these near neighbors when 
 they met on terms of familiarity and good-will. 
 
 Mrs. Lankton placed a chair, and the visitor sat 
 down. 
 
 " I have been greatly distressed by what happened 
 to-day," said he ; "and I don't want you to think 
 for a moment that I approve of my boy's shooting 
 your dog." 
 
 No reply from the gloomy man in the corner. 
 
 " It was done in a passion, and he is sorry enough 
 for it himself. I trust," Mr. Atway went on, in the 
 most conciliatory tones, "that you will consider all 
 the circumstances, — that he is a mere boy, and 
 that he really had some provocation, — and over- 
 look it." 
 
150 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " I don't see the provocation," muttered the man 
 in the corner. 
 
 "I don't mean that there was any sufficient prov- 
 ocation," Mr. Atway explained. " But you know, 
 the dog had already been at our cattle." 
 
 " Of course," spoke up the man of gloom, 
 promptly and harshly. " Your cattle were in our 
 field, and at our stack. You should keep your 
 cattle at home." 
 
 Mr. Atway controlled an impulse to make as sharp 
 a retort, and, after a moment's pause, answered 
 with exemplary mildness, — 
 
 " We try to keep our stock on our side of the 
 line ; but that is not always possible in the present 
 condition of the fences. I am more sorry than you 
 can be that the cows got over to-day ; but I didn't 
 suppose you would approve of your boys' dogging 
 them, and driving them into your yard." 
 
 " I think my boys did right," came sternly from 
 the dark figure in the corner. 
 
 " Why, then," said Mr. Atway, " I don't see that 
 there is much use in our talking the matter over. 
 There's been wrong on both sides ; and I'd not the 
 least idea of your upholding your boys in the cruelty 
 they were guilty of, let alone the trouble they put us 
 to, of driving our cattle home around by the road," 
 
TEACE OR WAR. 151 
 
 " Cruelty ! " exclaimed Mr. Lankton, in a violent 
 and bitter tone. " Who talks of cruelty ? Who shot 
 our dog ? " 
 
 " My boy shot him, I frankly admit." 
 
 " Very well. That's the only thing I care to talk 
 about. Your boy shot him, and you will have him 
 to pay for." 
 
 " I expect to do that — any reasonable price," said 
 Mr. Atway, beginning to lose patience, but still* 
 controlling himself; "provided your boy will at the 
 same time give up the pocket-rifle." 
 
 " Give up the pocket-rifle ? " 
 
 The man in the corner was evidently astonished. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Atway, firmly, "the cause of all 
 this trouble — the pocket-rifle which Worth found 
 and carried away from our sugar-camp this evening." 
 
 Mr. Lankton started to his feet. 
 
 " You mean to say — " 
 
 He was too angry to go on ; and Mr. Atway put 
 the rude fact in as gentle phrase as he could. 
 
 "You mean to say he stole it?" Mr. Lankton 
 broke out, in a fury. 
 
 " I didn't say that." 
 
 It was now time for the visitor to rise to his feet 
 and stand on the defensive. 
 
 " But you mean that, and you might as well say it." 
 
152 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 And the father of Worth denounced the charge as 
 a malignant falsehood. 
 
 "You won't listen to the evidence," said Mr. At- 
 way. " Call in Worth himself ; he won't deny it." 
 
 " I don't care for your evidence ; and I won't in- 
 sult my son by asking him to deny such a slander as 
 that," stormed the father. 
 
 " Well, there's no use of more words," said Mr. 
 Atway, out of all patience, retreating to the door. 
 
 " No use at all, when you talk that way," Mr. 
 Lankton roared after him. " Only remember there's 
 a dog to pay for." 
 
 " How much is the dog worth ? " said Mr. Atway, 
 contemptuously. 
 
 " Twenty-five dollars will settle the hash ; not a 
 cent less." 
 
 " Twenty — ■- five — dollars — for a worthless whelp 
 like that ! " said the amazed visitor. " Twenty-five 
 gimcracks ! " 
 
 " You will pay it ! " said Lankton, following him 
 to the door. 
 
 " I never will pay it in the world," said Atway, 
 taking up his lantern ; " not if it costs me my farm 
 in lawsuits ! " 
 
 " I shall certainly sue you, then ! " cried Lankton, 
 in the doorway. 
 
PEACE OR WAE. 
 
 153 
 
 "Look here, neighbor ! " Atway answered, stand- 
 ing, lantern in hand, a few paces out in the dark- 
 ness, which its shimmering light faintly illumined. 
 " There are two edges to that tool, and you'd better 
 be careful you don't get cut by it." 
 
 He partly turned away, as if about to go, but 
 stopped to add, — 
 
 " Sue for my boy's killing the dog, and I'll have 
 your boy up for stealing the pocket-rifle, sure as we 
 two are talking here. Now we understand each 
 other." 
 
 And having sent back this menace, in a meas- 
 ured, level tone of voice, straight as a sword-thrust, 
 he walked away, in his little moving shower of 
 hazy lantern-beams, into the dismal night. 
 
154 THE FOCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXHI. 
 
 wak! 
 
 ME. ATWAY was right in prophesying a storm. 
 A cold north-easter set in before morning, and 
 at daylight the ground was covered and the wild air 
 filled with snow. 
 
 " Lucky we turned the sap-buckets over," said 
 Chase, looking out of the window. 
 
 Tomkins, who had remained in the sugar-bush all 
 night, came in, bringing pails of black syrup, to be 
 converted into sugar in Mrs. Atway's kitchen. He 
 had let the fire go out and put the kettles under 
 cover. Work in the woods was over, for that day at 
 least ; for two days, as it turned out ; the snow-storm 
 proving the heaviest of the season, although it came 
 in March. It takes frosty nights and sunny days to 
 bring a run of sap. 
 
 But though the storm interfered with the sugar- 
 making, it did not smother the wrath of man. 
 
 Mr. Atway had just shoved his chair back from 
 the dinner-table, on the second day, when an ac- 
 
WAR. 
 
 155 
 
 quaintance from the village came in, stamping off the 
 snow in the entry, and dropping his gloves into his 
 hat. 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Atway, cheerily, " what's 
 the news with you, Mb. Coffin?" 
 
 " Something I'm afraid you won't find very 
 pleasant," replied the visitor, unbuttoning his double- 
 breasted overcoat, and taking out a formidable- 
 looking envelope which he had carried safe in a dry 
 pocket. 
 
 The farmer turned slightly pale as he received it, 
 remembering that Mr. Coffin was a constable. 
 Chase, who had risen to place a chair and take the 
 
156 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 visitor's hat, watched his father anxiously as he broke 
 the wrapper. With a scowl of astonishment and 
 dismay, Mr. Atway unfolded and glanced his eye 
 over an official-looking document. 
 
 " We command you to appear before our Justices 
 of the District Court — in answer to — Luke Lank- 
 ton/" he exclaimed, reading at random, and glanc- 
 ing his eye down the page — a printed form filled 
 in with a pen. " Your goods or estate are attacked 
 — Fail not at your peril/ " 
 
 He held the document in his hand, looking over 
 it with speechless indignation at the constable. 
 
 "Pa, has he sued you?" said Chase. 
 
 " It's the grossest outrage that ever was commit- 
 ted ! " exclaimed the farmer. " I'll fight him ! I'll 
 fight him to the end of the law, if it takes every 
 cent I'm worth ! " 
 
 " Of course, you understand " — said the consta- 
 ble, apologetically. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Coffin, I understand that you have 
 nothing to do with writs but to serve them. I don't 
 blame you. But I must express my contempt. 
 Sued for the killing of a dog that wasn't worth his 
 breakfast, and didn't look as if he ever had one ! " 
 
 " What can you do ? " Chase inquired, full of con- 
 cern at this wretched result of his conduct. 
 
WAR. 157 
 
 Mr. Atway waited until the officer was out of the 
 house, then exclaimed, — 
 
 " Do ? The first thing I do will be to carry out my 
 threat to Lankton ; I'll have his boy up for stealing, 
 sure as fate ! " 
 
 Chase feebly remonstrated. 
 
 " I wilH I'll let Lankton know he has got a man 
 to deal with ! Bring my boots ! " 
 
 " Not now ! " said Chase, frightened at the ex- 
 tremes to which he saw the feud suddenly rushing. 
 
 " This minute ! " said his father. " It's a clear 
 case. You and the Rich boy and Lem Pavode can 
 swear that Worth threatened to take the rifle ; and 
 it was taken that very night. Nobody else was 
 about the sugar-bush ; I met him going into it, and 
 Tomkins is sure it was Worth he saw prowling 
 around the camp." 
 
 " Of course he took it," said Chase ; " but it was 
 in a fit of anger." 
 
 " So was his father in a fit of anger when he sued 
 me. But I'll let 'em know somebody else can be in 
 a fit of anger too ; they've no monopoly of that ! 
 Tell Tomkins to harness Whiteface to the cutter." 
 
 Mr. Atway was not a man to make idle threats. 
 The cutter was brought to the door ; and, taking 
 Chase with him, he rode to the village that after- 
 
158 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 noon, through the deep, half-trodden snow; con- 
 sulted a lawyer, whom he engaged to defend the 
 " dead-dog lawsuit," as he called it, and then sent 
 Chase to hunt up Squire Holgate. 
 
 Squire Holgate was a justice of the peace. Chase 
 found him talking politics at the post-office, and 
 with some difficulty got him to go over to his own 
 private office. He was an old man, who had- failed 
 as a lawyer in consequence of his procrastinating 
 habits and his easy good-nature, but who made a 
 tolerably good notary and village magistrate. 
 
 Entering his office with Mr. Atway, and inviting 
 him to sit down, he told a good story or two, and 
 would have kept on talking the rest of the day on 
 any pleasant topic aside from business ; but Mr. 
 Atway was nervous and impatient. 
 
 "Excuse me, squire," he said, interrupting one of 
 his humorous anecdotes ; " I have a matter of some 
 importance — " 
 
 "Oh, certainly!" said the squire. "In a mo- 
 ment." 
 
 And having finished his story, he took off his 
 hat, put on a grave official countenance and a pair 
 of spectacles, and prepared to write. 
 
 " This is a serious matter ! " he said, having heard 
 the complaint against "Worth. "I know Lankton 
 
w,4P. 159 
 
 * 
 
 very well ; he's odd, but a well-meaning man at bot- 
 tom. I shall hate to issue a writ for his boy. Can't 
 the thing be settled ? " 
 
 " I don't see how it can," Mr. Atway answered, 
 firmly. 
 
 " Go and talk it over with him ; he'll hear to rea- 
 son, and bring the boy to terms." 
 
 " No, he won't ; I've tried it. He insulted and 
 abused me. He wouldn't even call Worth in, and 
 ask hiir if he took the rifle." 
 
 " Let me send for him ; I think the matter can be 
 arranged," the good-natured magistrate insisted. 
 
 Chase, who stood by, anxiously listening, hoped 
 his father would take this good advice. It was cer- 
 tainly disinterested, for Squire Holgate would have 
 his fee from the court if he issued the warrant, and 
 none if he did not. 
 
 But Mr. Atway was roused and obstinate. 
 
 " You don't know Lankton," he said. " It would 
 be just like him, even if he knew his boy had taken 
 the rifle, to uphold him in it. They're a bad lot ! " 
 And he insisted upon the magistrate's doing his 
 duty. 
 
 " Well, if you say so, there's nothing else to be 
 done. But this is a bad state of things between 
 neighbors. And it's pretty rough business to haul 
 
160 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 up a respectable boy for the larceny of something 
 he has laid his hands on in a moment of passion." 
 
 " But it's no less larceny on that account, is it ? 
 so I've been told," put in the farmer. 
 
 " You have been told correctly. Larceny is lar- 
 ceny, whether the motive be avarice or malice, or 
 both. You are ready to take oath to this com- 
 plaint," said the justice. 
 
 " I am," said the farmer. 
 
 The complaint was signed and the oath adminis- 
 tered, Chase looking on with strangely mingled 
 feelings, — resentment, regret, and apprehension of 
 troubles yet to come. 
 
ANOTHER RACE. 161 
 
 CHAPTEK XXIV. 
 
 ANOTHER RACE. 
 
 HAVING cleared his conscience by offering sound 
 advice as a peacemaker, and perfected the pa- 
 per as a magistrate, Squire Holgate shoved back his 
 chair with, " This case reminds me " — and began 
 another of his pleasant stories. But Mr. Atway 
 once more interrupted him. 
 
 " Excuse me ; I must be getting along back. 
 There will be no delay in issuing the warrant?" 
 
 "No delay at all," replied the squire, fumbling 
 among his papers for another blank form. " It will 
 be in the hands of an officer within an hour, and be 
 served, probably, this very afternoon. If you will 
 take the trouble to find Mr. Coffin as you go out, and 
 send him to me, that will expedite matters." 
 
 " I'll do that," said Mr. Atway, promptly. " Come, 
 boy ! " 
 
 " Foolish business ! foolish business ! " said the 
 justice, after they were gone, as he sat peering 
 through his glasses at the writ he had made out, to 
 
162 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 see that it was all in due form. " I hope Coffin can't 
 be found." 
 
 At that very moment the door opened, and Coffin 
 walked in. 
 
 The consequence was, that Mr. Atway had hardly 
 reached home with Chase, when the constable, fol- 
 lowing them down the road in a cutter, passed their 
 house on his way to Mr. Lankton's. 
 
 Chase did not see him go by without a feeling of 
 deep concern. 
 
 His old love for Worth was not fully dead. On 
 his ride home from the magistrate's he had thought 
 of their long intimacy, and of many good and noble 
 traits in his friend, which he could not forget, and did 
 not wish to forget. And now to see an officer on his 
 way to arrest him for stealing the bauble which had 
 caused all the trouble between them, was not so 
 great a satisfaction as might have been supposed. 
 
 If Mr. Atway felt any compunctions of the sort, 
 he kept them to himself, observing grimly, as he 
 watched the officer whipping down the road, — 
 
 " He'll have company in his cutter when he goes 
 back. I had my unpleasant surprise after dinner ; 
 now it's Lankton's turn." 
 
 There was anxious watching for the return of the 
 constable; and Chase felt, after all, a gloomy tri- 
 
ANOTHER RACE. 163 
 
 umph, thinking of the punishment it would be to the 
 proud and revengeful Worth to ride by, a prisoner, 
 charged with such a crime. 
 
 To the surprise of the family, yet to the secret 
 relief of Chase, the officer returned alone. 
 
 In the pure, transparent dusk, settling down 
 upon the snow-covered earth, under a clear and 
 rosy-belted sky, they saw him riding slowly up the 
 road. 
 
 " Squire Holgate has played me false ! " exclaimed 
 Mr. Atway, wrathfully. "I don't believe he has 
 issued any warrant. What a man he is for a mag- 
 istrate ! " And he went out to waylay the officer. 
 
 " Where is your prisoner? " he demanded, as Mr. 
 Coffin reined his horse into the deep snow by the 
 gate, and stopped. 
 
 " I haven't any prisoner," replied the officer. 
 
 "Have you got a warrant?" was Mr. Atway 's 
 next rather sharp question. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " And Coffin smilingly tapped his 
 breast-pocket. "But the bird is flown." 
 
 " Eun away ? " ejaculated the farmer. 
 
 "Gone a-visiting, his folks say," explained the 
 constable; "to see his aunt, over the mountain. I 
 couldn't follow him to-night. Besides, I have my 
 doubts about his being there." 
 
164 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " So have I," said the farmer. " They've sent him 
 out of the way. I guess now the squire will be 
 satisfied that there was good reason for sending a 
 warrant after him. Did you tell 'em what you 
 wanted ? " 
 
 "No," said Coffin; "I just told Lankton that 
 Judge Holgate wanted to see him and Worth about 
 a matter you had brought to his notice." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 Coflin laughed. 
 
 " Well, he didn't speak very respectfully of you 
 and your matter. I didn't have many words with 
 him. I shall watch for the boy, and serve the writ 
 the first chance I get." 
 
 " I trust you will," said the fanner. " This run- 
 ning away shows plainly enough the boy's guilt." 
 
 "I think Holgate himself will be satisfied," re- 
 plied Coflin. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth, when he put the writ into 
 my hands, he told me not to serve it, nor to say any- 
 thing about it, until I had got Lankton and his boy 
 up there to talk with him. He thought, after all, 
 the thing might be amicably settled." 
 
 " Just like the old squire ! " Mr. Atway exclaimed, 
 in huge disgust. " Why couldn't he take my word, 
 
ANOTHER RACE. 165 
 
 and do as he agreed? He's no more fit for a magis- 
 trate " — But here he checked himself. 
 
 Mr. Coffin blandly replied, " He is, perhaps, too 
 good-natured. But that, you must allow, is a rather 
 rare trait, and not a very bad trait, either, in a pub- 
 lic officer. I take pride in being pretty good-nat- 
 ured myself." 
 
 " Well, you are. And it is a good trait in you 
 and him," said Mr. Atway. " He really meant to 
 make peace, and I forgive him for doing his duty in 
 that irregular and roundabout way. But he'll see 
 now that I was right, and tell you to clap on your 
 warrant, or I miss my guess. The scamp will be 
 round again before many days." 
 
 "Probably." And the officer drove away in the 
 shining March twilight. 
 
 When he reported the result of his mission to 
 Squire Holgate, that humane and cautious function- 
 ary shook his head gravely. 
 
 " That's bad for the boy ! He should have stayed 
 at home and faced the music. But the course I 
 advised was best, after all. It's just as well that you 
 didn't let the Lanktons know what you had in your 
 pocket." 
 
 " I suppose I shall make the arrest now, when I 
 can?" 
 
166 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " Certainly. The first chance you get. But I 
 wouldn't go to any great trouble or expense about it." 
 
 That evening John Eich came over to consult 
 Chase about a sleigh-ride which had been already 
 planned when the last thaw came and swept away 
 the winter's snow. 
 
 The revival of sleighing in March had reminded 
 the young folks of this much-talked-of pleasure, — 
 except, perhaps, Chase and Worth, who had some- 
 thing else to think of in those days. 
 
 " They are all ready for it," said John. " Only 
 Worth ; he is off somewhere ; and we don't want 
 him." 
 
 " I wouldn't go if he did ! " Chase declared. 
 
 " But you will as it is ? " 
 
 " Yes, if pa will let me, and I can have old White- 
 face." 
 
 "He will let you, I know. Won't you, Mr. 
 Atway?" 
 
 John appealed to the farmer himself, who just 
 then came into the room. 
 
 " I don't know," said Mr. Atway, after hearing 
 the proposal. "If there comes a run of sap to- 
 morrow, we shall need Chase in the sugar-bush. And 
 Whiteface, too ; we can't get around and gather the 
 sap without him and the bob-sled." 
 
ANOTHER RACE. 167 
 
 "But we don't mean to start till just at night," 
 said John, speaking for Chase, who was not in a 
 mood to care much for the sleigh-ride, any way. 
 " We'll order an oyster supper at Bell's, and stop 
 there on our way home." 
 
 "Oh, well, I don't care! " said Mr. Atway, just 
 as the boys knew he would. " Chase can have 
 Whiteface. I believe in young folks enjoying them- 
 selves, once in a while." So the ride was agreed 
 upon ; and Chase went off with John to talk it over 
 with the girls who were to be invited. 
 
 Chase engaged Susan Webb for his companion, 
 and, on the next afternoon, drove up to her father's 
 gate for her, with old Whiteface in his belt of 
 jingling bells, and the rather old-fashioned cutter. 
 
 Susan came out, with her pretty rosy cheeks, a 
 jay's wing in her hat, and her sealskin muff and 
 cape. Chase tucked the sleigh-robe carefully about 
 her, for the day was wintry, and they started off in 
 fine spirits for the rendezvous of the party at Bell's, 
 in the village. 
 
 "Is Laura Fosdick going?" Chase inquired, as he 
 touched up Whiteface. 
 
 "I don't believe she is," said Susan. " She was 
 to have gone with Worth, you know, when the ride 
 was first talked of. But he is away." x 
 
168 THE POCKET-BIFLE. 
 
 " So I hear," replied Chase, dryly. 
 
 The mere mention of Worth's name threw a shade 
 upon his spirits. He hastened to cast it off by 
 talking gayly of the route which had been laid out 
 for their ride. 
 
 "We shall go over through Mad Eiver Notch," 
 he said ; " keep on up Mad River Valley to Meeker's 
 Mills, then cross the East Range by moonlight, and 
 so on down to our valley, to Bell's, where we shall 
 have a good supper, and good appetites for it, by 
 that time." 
 
 " It's going to be a splendid night," said the 
 happy Susan. 
 
 The sun had already disappeared behind the west- 
 ern hills ; but the distant snow-covered peaks were 
 wondrously lighted up with soft tints of the most 
 delicate rose and pink, like mountains of ice-cream. 
 The air was clear and crisp, and upland and val- 
 ley were outspread in all the purity of new-fallen 
 snow. 
 
 " Who is that coming behind us ? " said Susan. 
 " It must be some of our party." 
 
 Chase turned to look two or three times, as tha 
 sound of sleigh-bells following them drew near. A 
 look of surprise and trouble came into his face, 
 which grew dark and stern. 
 
ANOTHER RACE. 169 
 
 " I declare ! " exclaimed Susan, turning her head 
 again ; " it is Laura Fosdick and Worth Lankton ! 
 Where did they come from ? " 
 
 " I don't know," muttered Chase, with an ominous 
 shake of the head. " He'd better have kept away ! 
 I wish he had." 
 
 He remembered that the course of the party led 
 through the village, directly past Officer Coffin's 
 door. He was amazed, and indeed sorry, that 
 Worth, who had once got well out of the way, 
 should have taken this risk. 
 
 " They know us," said Susan. " Worth is whipping 
 up his horse. He means to drive by us." 
 
 " But he shan't ! " said Chase, giving Whiteface a 
 touch. 
 
 They were approaching the village. Worth came 
 close behind. His face had a daring and determined 
 look ; all the evil in him flamed out at sight of his 
 enemy ahead. 
 
 " Don't race with him ! don't have any trouble ! " 
 Susan pleaded, foreboding mischief, as they were 
 approaching a dangerous part of the road. 
 
 " Well, I won't," said Chase, holding in Whiteface, 
 who was by this time pretty well roused by the whip 
 and tight reins, and the sound of rival bells. "Do 
 
170 THE EOCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 you want to go by ? " he called out with provoking 
 politeness, beginning to turn out as Worth came 
 crowding eagerly up. " I'll let you." 
 
 " I'm going by, whether you'll let me or not," was 
 Worth's rude response. 
 
 At the same time he reined out of the track and 
 gave his horse the lash. 
 
 In a moment the two cutters were alongside. But 
 this insolent retort and onset were too much for 
 Chase. He, too, laid on the whip and let out the 
 reins. 
 
 Whiteface was awake. And he had one advan- 
 tage ; he was more in the beaten track. But 
 Lankton's horse was the better roadster, and he 
 had got the start while Chase was holding White- 
 face in. 
 
 Whips whistled, snow flew, and the drivers leaned 
 forward and shouted, each striving for the track. 
 The cutters leaned towards each other and nearly 
 clashed, as the outer runners ran into the drifts. 
 
 " Don't ! don't ! we shall go over ! " screamed 
 Susan. 
 
 They were now on the outskirts of the village. 
 There was a great bank on Chase's side, just beyond. 
 He would have been glad to avoid it; but now 
 
ANOTHER RACE. 171 
 
 Worth, working ahead, crowded . him more and 
 more out of the track. Higher and higher went 
 Chase's outer runner ; and just as Worth shot by, 
 wild with triumph, over went the unlucky cutter, 
 and Chase and Susan were tumbled out together into 
 the snow, in full sight of the gazing village. 
 
172 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A SHORT-LIVED TRIUMPH. 
 
 IT was a complete and ridiculous overturn. For- 
 tunately the snow broke the force of the fall ; 
 and Chase had the presence of mind to keep a tight 
 hold on the reins. 
 
 Old Whiteface, at his best, was not a very met- 
 tlesome steed, and his ardor was quickly quenched 
 in the deep drifts. Chase righted the cutter, and got 
 it into the track. Then Susan and he had time to 
 look at and question each other. 
 
 They were covered with snow from head to foot ; 
 and she had lost her muff, and the jay's wing out of 
 her hat. 
 
 " You are not hurt ? " Chase eagerly inquired. 
 
 " No ; but I'm mad as I can be ! " At the same 
 time, conscious of spectators, she broke into a laugh. 
 " A pretty figure we cut, thanks to that impudent 
 Worth Lankton." 
 
 Chase did not laugh. He brushed the snow from 
 her neck and dress, saying resentfully, — 
 
A SHORT-LIVED TRIUMPH. 173 
 
 " He'll get his pay for it ! You'll see, before this 
 day's sport is over ! The fun won't be all on his 
 side, I assure you." 
 
 " Don't mind it ! we have had trouble enough," 
 said Susan. 
 
 " Oh, we are not going to have any more trouble ; 
 be easy on that score ! " 
 
 The laugh which finally came to his lips was bitter 
 and menacing. " The scamp ! " he exclaimed. " I 
 don't care so much for myself ; but to put girls in 
 such peril — it was dastardly ! " 
 
 He shook the snow out of the sleigh-robe, and 
 helped Susan back into the cutter. Then he brushed 
 her muff and handed.it to her. At last he discov- 
 ered the tip of the jay's wing peeping out of the 
 drift, and recovered it, to her great delight, though 
 she had positively assured him that she cared nothing 
 about it, and would much prefer the two wings of 
 the bird he promised to shoot for her. 
 
 By this time Charlie Budgett and Lem Pavode 
 drove up, with Lem's sister and another girl, all in 
 one sleigh. The adventure was talked over, and 
 Worth's conduct was denounced by all in unmeas- 
 ured terms. Of course, it never occurred to Chase 
 that he was at all to blame in the matter. 
 
 The sleigh followed the cutter on to Bell's, where 
 
174 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Chase was glad to find occasion for a little delay. 
 Some of the party had not yet arrived, and the 
 number of plates to be ordered for the supper had 
 yet to be determined. 
 
 " Go into the parlor with the girls, and get warm 
 after your ducking," Chase said to Susan, helping 
 her out at the steps. " I'll keep Whiteface moving 
 a few minutes." 
 
 He paid no attention to "Worth, who stood haugh- 
 tily beside his blanketed horse at the end of the 
 piazza, but drove quietly past him and disappeared 
 round the corner. 
 
 It was not long before the last of the party ar- 
 rived ; and then the inquiries became loud for 
 Chase. 
 
 " I gave his horse such a sweat he didn't dare let 
 him stand still," said Worth, on the hotel steps. 
 " Sorry for what happened to you, Susie ; but Chase 
 was to blame." 
 
 " I didn't think he was half so much to blame as 
 you were," said Susie, curtly. 
 
 " He shouldn't have told me I could go by, and 
 then whipped up just as I started to," said Worth. 
 "That's what was the matter." 
 
 " He couldn't bear to have you go by him in the 
 insulting way you did, and I do„n't blame him," 
 
A SHORT-LIVED TRIUMPH. 175 
 
 replied the candid Susie. " I thought you were out 
 of town." 
 
 "I wasn't very far ; and when I heard the sleigh- 
 ride was coming off, of course I wanted to keep my 
 engagement with Laura. So those who tried to get 
 the start of me, and have the ride when I was away, 
 didn't make out very well ! " added "Worth, sarcastic 
 and defiant. " What are we waiting for, any way ? " 
 
 " I'm waiting for my driver," said Susie. 
 
 " You needn't wait for him ; I'll take you into my 
 cutter," said Worth, with ironical courtesy. 
 
 " That's a pretty proposal ! " cried Susie. " How 
 would you like to have Chase run off with your girl ?" 
 
 " He may, if he dares, and if I give him a chance," 
 Worth replied, with an excited air that gave him 
 the appearance of gayety. " Come, Laura." 
 
 " Let's wait till all are ready," said Laura. 
 
 " I'm not going to wait for anybody ! " cried 
 Worth. " I'm going to take the lead in this ride, 
 and let anybody pass me who can ! " 
 
 Others remonstrated. But Worth, angry that 
 there should be any delay on his enemy's account, 
 hurried Laura into the cutter. 
 
 The rest followed their example ; for Worth had 
 a powerful influence over his companions, much as 
 they often disliked his overbearing manners. 
 
176 - THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Only Susie was left on the piazza. But now, to 
 her great joy, she saw Chase driving up. 
 
 He was coming quite slowly, as if he had merely 
 walked his horse around the square for the sake of 
 exercise. At sight of him Worth's eyes gleamed. 
 
 " I lead ! " he cried again, tucking the robe around 
 Laura, and then gathering up reins and whip. " See 
 you all at supper-time." 
 
 But just as he was starting, a man who had walked 
 along the sidewalk a little ahead of Chase, quickened 
 his step, and advancing to Worth's side of the sleigh, 
 laid his hand on the reins. 
 
 " One moment, if you please," he said, in a quiet, 
 business-like way. 
 
 " What — what is it ! " said Worth, taken by sur- 
 prise, and afraid some of the rest of the party would 
 lead off. 
 
 The man was deliberately unbuttoning his breast- 
 pocket. Worth frowned with impatience. 
 
 " I'm in a hurry, Mr. Coffin ! " 
 
 " I'm sorry to interrupt your sleigh-ride," replied 
 the officer, " but I have no choice in the matter." 
 
 "In what matter?" Worth demanded, in quick 
 alarm. 
 
 " I've a mandamus here," said the officer, produc- 
 ing a document from the same breast-pocket. 
 
A MANDAMUS. 177 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 A MANDAMUS. 
 
 WHAT'S a mandamus?" Worth demanded, with 
 a look at once frightened and fierce. 
 
 By this time, the loaded sleighs and cutters were 
 grouped around Lankton's, their occupants looking 
 with excited curiosity to see what would happen 
 next. 
 
 Chase, pale but polite, smiling with nervous lips, 
 was helping Susie into his cutter. They paused, 
 and everybody listened intently, to hear Mr. Coffin's 
 reply. 
 
 The opening of the overcoat had exposed the 
 officer's badge on the lapel beneath. He was a car- 
 penter by trade, and did not usually put on that 
 ornament except when he had official business on 
 hand. 
 
 Moreover, the stealing of the pocket-rifle had by 
 this time become known to all the town. These 
 circumstances gave a thrilling interest to the situa- 
 tion. 
 
178 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 "A mandamus, in this case," said the constable, 
 " is Judge Holgate's writ, commanding me to take 
 you into custody. Would you like to look at it, to 
 make sure of my authority ? " 
 
 In producing and unfolding the paper, he had used 
 both hands, letting go the reins. 
 
 If the whole scene had been planned for Worth's 
 utter bewilderment and humiliation, it could not 
 have . been better contrived. He saw his enemy's 
 hand in it ; and after his own short-lived triumph, 
 this revenge was more than he could bear. 
 
 He looked quickly at the officer, then at his horse, 
 then gave a wild glance around at the spectators. 
 His companions were not alone the witnesses of his 
 arrest. Men came out Of the hotel bar-room, or 
 crossed the street, and urchins in the distance ap- 
 peared running and hooting. 
 
 " You see I am engaged just now," Worth con- 
 strained himself to say. " Wait till I come back 
 from my sleigh-ride, and I'll be at your service." 
 
 " I can't very well do that," replied the con- 
 stable. 
 
 "Do, please!" Laura entreated, in great alarm 
 and distress for her companion. " For my sake ! 
 You know my father so well, Mr. Coffin ! " 
 
 " I know his father, too, and should be glad to 
 
A MANDAMUS. 179 
 
 accommodate you both. But I can't let him go, 
 without I go with him." 
 
 " Do that, then ! " cried Laura. " You ain't a very 
 large man. We'll make room for you in the cutter." 
 
 But Worth was not a fellow to submit to anything 
 so absurd. The idea of his going on a merry sleigh- 
 ride, under arrest, and sitting between his girl and 
 an officer ! 
 
 " How long will you keep me if I go with you 
 now ? " he said, quietly, while forming a desperate 
 resolution." 
 
 "Not long, if we find the squire in his office, and 
 you can get bail." 
 
 " I shall have to send for my father," said Worth. 
 "That will take a good while." 
 
 " Xes, it will," replied the constable. " I'm sorry, 
 but I can't help it." 
 
 " I suppose I know something of the charge 
 trumped up against me," said Worth, with rising 
 fury, as a full sense of his wrong and shame rushed 
 over him. " It can be easily disposed of. But this 
 outrage — at this moment — " 
 
 " Our oyster supper is ordered ! " said poor Laura ; 
 who, worthy girl and good speller as she was, had 
 not a very fine sense of humor, and did not know 
 why her remark should excite laughter. 
 
180 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " We can eat that for you," said Charlie Budgett, 
 " if it will be any accommodation." 
 
 The situation, which had at first threatened to be 
 tragic, was fast turning to comedy ; when Worth, 
 writhing with rage and mortification, controlled 
 himself enough to say, with lurid sullenness, — 
 
 " I don't care ! I'm not to be tricked out of this 
 trip. I'm going to have my sleigh-ride, anyway ! 
 And if you don't mind getting in and riding with 
 us, Mr. Coffin, all right ! I can stand it if you can." 
 
 " Very well ! " laughed the constable. " Perhaps 
 this is the best way to settle it. I hope you'll in- 
 vite me to supper when we get back." 
 
 He was quite thrown off his guard by Worth's 
 apparent willingness to accept this amusing compro- 
 mise. 
 
 Worth made a motion as if to rise and make room 
 for him in the cutter. 
 
 " Ned ! " called the officer, to a youngster on the 
 sidewalk, " go around and tell my folks." 
 
 Here he was suddenly interrupted, and, the next 
 moment, he might have been seen flying through 
 the street, clinging to the back of the departing 
 cutter, with his heels kicking up, while Worth 
 lashed the horse. 
 
 It was by the merest chance that the constable 
 
A MANDAMUS. 181 
 
 had caught hold when "Worth made that nearly suc- 
 cessful feint and treacherous start. But he quickly 
 recovered his self-possession, and refused to be 
 shaken off. On the contrary, he was fast working 
 his way into the cutter. 
 
 Then, in his desperation, "Worth turned and tried 
 to force his hands away, and got his own wrist 
 captured by the alert officer. 
 
 Meanwhile, Laura was screaming; and Worth, 
 not seeing how he drove, was reining his horse vio- 
 lently into a drift. Catastrophe was impending. It 
 was over in a minute. The cutter was upset, and 
 Laura was tumbled upon officer and prisoner in the 
 burying snow. 
 
 For, officer and prisoner they still remained. 
 Nothing could unclasp the constable's grip. 
 
 Laura scrambled first to her feet. Then Mr. 
 Coffin and Worth Lankton got up together. 
 
 The horse ran a few rods after scattering the con- 
 tents of the cutter, when he was stopped and brought 
 back by a couple of men on the street. 
 
 "Well," said Worth, excitedly, " you've beat me ! 
 Now put on your handcuffs." 
 
 " I don't think that will be necessary," Mr. Coffin 
 replied. " I can easily manage boys like you with- 
 out 'em." 
 
182 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " I'd rather one of us had been killed ! " said 
 Worth. " But it's all right. I'll go with you." 
 
 " That's about the wisest conclusion you can come 
 to," remarked the officer. 
 
 "I didn't mean to upset you, Laura," said Worth, 
 " and I'm sorry I can't keep my engagement." 
 
 " Oh, don't mind me ! " said Laura, crying. " I 
 ain't hurt, and I don't care for myself, but I do say 
 it is too mean." 
 
 She consented to get into the cutter and ride back 
 to the hotel, while the whitened constable walked 
 before, leading the horse with one hand and his 
 snow-covered prisoner with the other. 
 
 " Somebody will have to suffer for this business ! " 
 Worth exclaimed, in high excitement, as the crowd 
 about the steps opened to let him pass through. " I 
 don't want any one to think I'm going to submit to 
 it tamely. I've done nothing to be taken up for, 
 and I shall be at liberty again in an hour. Sha'n't 
 I, Mr. Coffin?" 
 
 " I think it likely you will, if you behave yourself," 
 replied the officer. " But it won't be healthy for 
 you to try any more of your tricks on me." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Worth, now for the 
 first time thinking to brush off the adhering snow 
 from his clothes, as they halted at the steps. " I 
 
A MANDAMUS. 183 
 
 didn't mean any trick against you. But to be the 
 victim of a rascally outrage — at such a time ! " 
 
 His wrath choked him, and he merely added, 
 " Never mind ! " with a savage look at Chase. 
 
 His companions were, in the mean while, consid- 
 ering whether they should continue their sleigh- 
 ride, after such an interruption, or countermand the 
 order for supper, and go home. 
 
 " What's the use of going home ? " cried Charlie 
 Budgett. " That won't help anything." 
 
 " But what will become of Laura ? " whispered 
 Susie. 
 
 " Tell her she can ride with us," said Chase ; 
 " since she don't object to three on a seat. I guess 
 I shall be as agreeable to her as a police-officer." 
 
 " Oh, but that will be too cruel, after — " 
 
 And Susie told him of Worth's proposal to carry 
 her off, and his defiant offer to let anybody carry 
 his girl off who could. 
 
 "I'll do it ! " exclaimed Chase. " But don't say a 
 word, only tell her that her friends will take care of 
 her," 
 
 This Susie did quite privately; at which poor 
 Laura seemed somewhat cheered. 
 
 She had got out of the cutter, and was standing 
 on the piazza with two or three companions, when 
 
184 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Worth, after a consultation with his captor, said to 
 her : " I'll come for you here, as soon as I get a 
 chance. But, of course, I haven't any right to ask 
 you to wait for me. Don't wait, unless you wish 
 to. I'll get somebody to take you home in my 
 cutter, if you would prefer that." 
 
 " Thank you very much," said Laura. " But you 
 needn't be to that trouble. I don't want to go home ; 
 and I think it would be awfully lonesome staying 
 here ; and as I can't help you, as I see, perhaps — if 
 you have no objection — I'll go with our friends ; it 
 seems too bad I shouldn't, since everything has 
 been arranged so, and the supper ordered." 
 
 Worth had no objection, of course. He gave a 
 sullen assent, and walked away Tvith the officer ; 
 thinking that the utmost weight of humiliation a 
 mortal could bear had fallen to his lot. 
 
 But there was more yet in store for him. 
 
 As he was marching ignominiously, with Mr. 
 Coffin's hand under his arm, to the door of Squire 
 Holgate's office, the sleighing-party, having finally 
 got started, dashed off gayly with flourishing whips 
 and jingling bells. 
 
 Worth paused at the door, as the procession swept 
 by in the brilliant twilight ; and looked to see what 
 horse and what driver led off in his place. 
 
A MANDAMUS. 185 
 
 The horse was Whiteface, and the driver was 
 Chase Atway. 
 
 There were two girls on the seat with Chase ; and 
 one of them fluttered her handkerchief cheeringly 
 at the wretched prisoner left behind. 
 
 It was Laura Fosdick. That was an ill-timed act 
 of kindness ; although she meant it for the best. 
 
 Others followed her example. A dozen hand- 
 kerchiefs were waved from the departing sleighs. 
 At the same time a suppressed tittering reached 
 Worth Lankton's ears. 
 
 He watched till the last sleigh passed ; his feat- 
 ures wearing some such dazed and despairing look 
 as when the prize of the pocket-rifle was awarded to 
 his rival. 
 
 Then he turned and entered the squire's office with 
 the constable. 
 
186 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVII. 
 
 BEATEN AGAIN. 
 
 SQUIRE Holgate was not in ; but he soon arrived, 
 having received a hasty message from his officer. 
 He shook hands with Worth in a kindly manner, 
 laid off his hat and overcoat, talking in a common- 
 place, genial way about the unusual depth of snow 
 for March; looked in at the stove-door; and then 
 proceeded to light a kerosene lamp standing on the 
 office-table. 
 
 This done, he sat down in his big arm-chair, and 
 looked scrutinizingly at the prisoner. 
 
 " Well, my young friend," he said, " I don't sup- 
 pose you find this very pleasant, and I didn't mean 
 it should happen." 
 
 " It wouldn't have happened if I could help it," 
 said Worth, sulkily, from his chair at the end of 
 the table. 
 
 " I can bear him out in that ! " added the officer, 
 with a dry laugh. 
 
 " Tried to get away, did you ? I heard of it ! " 
 
BEATEN AGAIN. 187 
 
 said the judge. "What did you do such a foolish 
 thing as that for ? " 
 
 " Because I wanted to go on the sleigh-ride ; I had 
 agreed to, and I had a girl with me," said Worth, 
 with rising wrath at the recollection of his wrongs. 
 
 " That's natural ; that could have been arranged 
 if you had only come here first," said the judge. "It 
 wouldn't have taken long." 
 
 " Arrange it, and let me go now, then ! " 
 
 Judge Holgate shook his bushy white head. 
 
 " That will hardly do, under the circumstances ; 
 we can't be quite so indulgent to a prisoner who has 
 attempted to escape. I shall have to put you under 
 bonds first." Worth sat sullenly silent. 
 
 " Let's see ! " the squire resumed ; " you haven't 
 had your supper." 
 
 Worth thought bitterly of the oysters cooking at 
 Bell's, but made no answer. 
 
 "And you'll want your father here. Where's 
 your horse?" 
 
 " Under the hotel shed," muttered the prisoner. 
 
 Squire Holgate turned to the constable. 
 
 "Suppose, Coffin, you take him into the sleigh 
 and go and fetch his father. You can wait for him to 
 get a bite ; and by the time you come back I shall 
 have had my supper." 
 
188 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " But I don't see that I shall have had my supper 
 anywhere," remarked the officer. 
 
 " There's something in that," laughed the squire ; 
 and he had to tell a story of which he was reminded. 
 
 " Oh, well, I don't care ; I'll go," said the con- 
 stable. " Come, my lad ! " 
 
 These two functionaries, it will be noticed, did 
 not perform their duties at all in the stern conven- 
 tional way described in romances, but used more 
 natural and humane methods. 
 
 I trust that Worth appreciated their gentleness. 
 But he did not show that he did ; his heart was too 
 hot and full. 
 
 Mr. Lankton, with the help of young Tim, had 
 finished the evening chores, and was just going into 
 the house, when he heard the sound of sleigh-bells 
 on the bridge, and presently saw a horse and cutter 
 coming to the door. 
 
 "My horse!" he said, in some surprise. "And 
 "Worth ! what is he coming back for ? " 
 
 Then he recognized the man with Worth, and 
 remembered Atway's threat, and the officer's omi- 
 nous visit of the day before. 
 
 " What's this ? " he demanded, going out to meet 
 the cutter as it ploughed its way along the half- 
 trodden track. " What does this mean ? " 
 
BEATEN AGAIN. 189 
 
 " It means that I am taken up for stealing," said 
 Worth. 
 
 " For stealing ! stealing what ? Not that pocket- 
 rifle. Atway hasn't dared ! — " 
 
 " He has dared," "Worth replied, with the quiet- 
 ness of desperation. " Chase pretended he wanted 
 to walk. his horse around the square, and went and 
 warned Mr. Coffin, and had me arrested just as we 
 were starting off on our sleigh-ride." 
 
 " Coffin ! " cried Lankton, turning to the officer. 
 But he was too angry to go on. 
 
 "Of course, you know I had no option in the 
 matter," Coffin hastened to explain. "I did have 
 yesterday, but not to-day." 
 
 "You had a warrant in your pocket when you 
 came here yesterday ! Why didn't you tell me ? 
 You have acted like a knave and a traitor, Mr. 
 Coffin!" 
 
 And Lankton looked as if he would like to tear 
 the officer from the sleigh and trample him in the 
 snow. But Coffin still kept his seat and retained 
 the prisoner at his side. 
 
 "So much I get for trying to do a neighborly 
 action," he said, mildly. "I didn't want to serve 
 the writ; I'd rather have lost my fee a dozen 
 
190 THE POCKET-EIFLE. 
 
 " Then why have you served it ? " 
 
 " That is your fault, Mr. Lankton. If you had 
 gone up with your boy, or without him, since he 
 wasn't at home, and had a talk with the squire, as I 
 advised, I've no doubt he could have settled matters 
 between you and the Atways." 
 
 " Never ! " roared out the angry farmer. 
 
 "So you told me," Mr. Coffin replied. "You 
 treated me more as an enemy than the friend I 
 was ; and received the squire's suggestion with 
 altogether too much contempt." 
 
 " I was mad !" Mr. Lankton exclaimed, beginning 
 to see matters in their true light. " I believed it 
 was all a bluff game on the part of Atway, to drive 
 me from my law-suit. I didn't think he would dare 
 to swear out a warrant against my son ! " 
 
 " Well, he has sworn out a very good one," said 
 the officer. " It's no bluff game at all ; he is in dead 
 earnest." 
 
 " It's a most villanous piece of business ! " cried 
 the father, his wrath changing to consternation. 
 " Have you told me the truth about it, Worth ? " 
 
 "As sure as I live," said Worth, "I haven't got 
 his pocket-rifle ! " 
 
 " I know it ! " said Mr. Lankton. " It's a case of 
 malicious prosecution. But what's to be done ? " 
 
BEATEN AGAIN- 191 
 
 " You'd better get in with us, and ride up to the 
 squire's office; that's what we've come for," Mr. 
 Coffin explained. "The boy can get his supper 
 first, if he likes." 
 
 " I don't want any supper," said Worth. 
 
 " Nor I ! " replied the farmer. " I'll attend to this 
 business the first thing. Be turning the cutter ; I'll 
 be with you in a minute." 
 
 He went storming into the house, and presently 
 came storming out again, followed to the door by 
 the distressed faces of his wife and daughter. He 
 gave Tim some directions about shutting the barn, 
 kicked the snow from his boots on the side of the 
 cutter, and got in. 
 
 Mrs. Lankton begged "Worth to take a luncheon 
 in his hand, but he surlily refused. And, followed 
 by her anxious and tearful eyes, he rode away with 
 the two men. 
 
 Squire Holgate had not returned when they reached 
 his office. But he soon came in, and shook hands 
 with the farmer in his usual good-natured way. 
 
 " Why didn't you come and see me yesterday ? " 
 he said. "You might have saved this trouble." 
 
 Lankton repeated the explanation he had made to 
 the constable. 
 
 " What ! " said the justice ; " did you believe me 
 
192 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 capable of helping Atway, or anybody else, to play 
 a mere bluff game ? I didn't want to have your boy 
 brought here in the custody of an officer. I acted 
 entirely against Atway's will, and without his knowl- 
 edge, when I directed Coffin to keep back the writ 
 until I had a talk with you." 
 
 "I don't see what good talking is going to do, if 
 Atway is in such dead earnest," replied Lankton. 
 
 " Oh, I know about these neighborly quarrels," 
 said the squire, seating himself comfortably. " There's 
 generally fault on both sides. I never got along 
 very well as a lawyer ; for that's the view I gener- 
 ally took of a quarrel. Instead of saying to my 
 client, ' You're right ! ' I told him what I sincerely 
 thought, ' You're partly in the wrong ! ' Instead of 
 shouting, ' Fight ! ' I whispered in his ear, ' Settle ! ' 
 In that way I prevented a good many lawsuits, and 
 lost a good many fees. There was one very funny 
 case I remember — " 
 
 Here the good-natured justice branched off on a 
 story, showing how he had once not only lost a fee, 
 but been outrageously abused by the client in whose 
 interest he sacrificed it. 
 
 " But I never regretted those friendly offices," he 
 went on. " They have brought me something better 
 than wealth. I keep up the old habit. And it 
 
BEATEN AGAIN. 193 
 
 occurred to me yesterday that if I could see you 
 and your boy, and induce him quietly to give up 
 the pocket-rifle — " 
 
 " Give up ! " interrupted the father. " Give up what 
 he hasn't got ! Do you take my boy for a thief ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, no !" cried the judge. " Don't use any 
 such harsh words as that. I've no idea he's a thief. - 
 But he had some trouble with the Atway boy on 
 account of the gun ; and, according to Atway's 
 sworn statement, there's pretty strong evidence 
 that he took it. Come, my lad ! " he said, kindly ; 
 "this is a mere friendly talk, and I don't ask you 
 to say a word against your will, or against your 
 interest. But I believe it will be for your interest 
 to tell me all about it." 
 
 " There's nothing to tell," said Worth. " I haven't 
 got his pocket-rifle." 
 
 " And you didn't go up in the woods that after- 
 noon to take it?" 
 
 Worth hesitated, his features dark and writhing. 
 
 " Speak out, boy ? " exclaimed his father. " Clear 
 yourself of this shameful charge? " 
 
 " I've nothing more to say," muttered Worth. " I 
 haven't got the pocket-rifle." 
 
 "But did you take it?" urged Mr. Lankton. 
 "Answer his question." 
 
194 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Worth hesitated again, and then said, — 
 
 " No, I didn't take it." 
 
 " I was sure of it," said his father. " Now what 
 is this terrible evidence against him ? " 
 
 The squire recapitulated in a few words Atway's 
 statement of facts. Then first the father learned 
 how serious the charge was, and saw that there 
 might be something more in it than the invention 
 of an enemy. 
 
 Worth was firm, but pale. He could not deny 
 that he had threatened to get possession of the 
 rifle, and had followed Chase up into the sugar- 
 bush afterwards. But beyond that he would admit 
 nothing. 
 
 " Then why did you take yourself out of the way 
 yesterday ? " Squire Holgate inquired. 
 
 " I didn't take myself out of the way very much," 
 said Worth. "There was so much snow I couldn't 
 do any work at home, and I thought I'd go and see 
 my aunt's folks, over the mountain." 
 
 "When you got there, why didn't you stay?" 
 
 " I found they had scarlet fever in the house, and 
 my aunt sent me away." 
 
 " Then this trouble with the Atway boy had 
 nothing to do with your going off?" queried the 
 squire. 
 
BEATEN AGAIN. 195 
 
 "I don't say that," replied Worth. "Father 
 thought I might as well be out of the way a few 
 days." 
 
 "Well," said the judge, " I don't see but we shall 
 have to give the case a hearing. What do you say 
 to to-morrow evening ? " 
 
 " As well then as any time," said Mr. Lankton. 
 
 The hour for the examination was appointed ac- 
 cordingly. Worth was admitted to bail, his father 
 becoming his surety. The bond was signed; the 
 constable went home to supper; and the prisoner 
 was free. 
 
 " Where are we going now ? " Worth asked, as he 
 left the office with his father. 
 
 " I must go and see our lawyer, and get him to 
 appear in your defence to-morrow night." 
 
 "You won't want me. Let me take the horse 
 and cutter an hour, won't you? I want to pitch 
 into that sleighing-party ! I don't want to give 
 up so." 
 
 The boy had a wild thought of encountering the 
 party and wreaking some revenge on Chase. 
 
 But his father wisely refused to listen to him. 
 
 " Besides," said he, " I want you to see the lawyer 
 and tell him your story." ' 
 
 " I've nothing more to tell," Worth declared. 
 
196 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Yet he accompanied his father to the consulta- 
 tion; and afterwards returned silently and reluc- 
 tantly home with him, to await the dreaded ordeal 
 of the court. 
 
 " Chase has beaten me again ! " he muttered to 
 himself. " He beats me every time. But I'll come 
 up with him yet." 
 
CROSSING THE INTERVALE. 197 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVm. 
 
 CROSSING THE INTERVALE. 
 
 AT the preliminary trial, which came off at the 
 appointed time, no facts were elicited with 
 which the reader is not already familiar. 
 
 Worth sat between his father and his counsel, and 
 listened with sullen looks to the testimony against 
 him. 
 
 He remained calm while Tomkins and John Eich 
 were giving their evidence; but he could hardly 
 keep his seat when Chase Atway took the stand. 
 
 The little court-room was crowded with specta- 
 tors, among whom the slouching figure of Jim 
 Lathbrook was conspicuous. 
 
 Whenever anything as exciting as a court-scene 
 was going on in the village, Jim was sure to be 
 on hand. He winked prodigiously, in his one- 
 sided way, when he saw Chase step forward and 
 give emphatic testimony against his old friend. 
 
 " Perty good for Damon and Pythias ! " he said, 
 with keen enjoyment of the situation. " 'Taint much 
 
198 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 like the story he told me once up on the mountain- 
 side, 'bout the friends that wanted to die for each 
 other. But this is more the way it happens in life." 
 
 It was no pleasant thing for Chase to do. But 
 having made up his mind to do it, he did it with a 
 quiet firmness which Worth's lawyer could not 
 shake. 
 
 The defence had little to offer against the evidence 
 of these principal witnesses. 
 
 Worth himself, when called to the stand by his 
 lawyer, denied again that he had taken the pocket- 
 rifle. But when questioned by the judge as to the 
 motive which took him into the sugar-bush that 
 day, so soon after his quarrel with Chase, he de- 
 clined to make any explanation. 
 
 The result of the trial was what everybody ex- 
 pected. Worth was bound over to await the action 
 of the grand jury, and allowed once more to return 
 home. 
 
 The feud between the two families was now at its 
 height; and I doubt that anybody was made the 
 happier by it, except perhaps the lawyers employed, 
 and a few village loafers and gossips. 
 
 Meanwhile, work in the sugar-bush had been 
 resumed; and it continued until interrupted by 
 another storm. 
 
CROSSING THE INTERVALE. 199 
 
 This time it was rain, bringing with it thaw and 
 flood. 
 
 There had been a brisk run of sap after the snow ; 
 and casks, tubs, and kettles were full when the rain 
 came. It poured so heavily all one night and day 
 that it nearly put a stop to the boiling. That made 
 Mr. Atway talk seriously of rebuilding the sugar- 
 house, which had been burned two years before, and 
 been temporarily replaced by the shanty. 
 
 The sap was still to be boiled, if possible, before 
 it turned sour, and Tomkins remained in the woods 
 to do it. 
 
 On the second day of the rain, Chase went to 
 carry him his dinner, and stayed to help about the 
 work until late in the afternoon. Then he started 
 to return home. 
 
 The rain was over, and, as he came out of the 
 woods, a scene wonderful in its wild grandeur met 
 his eyes. 
 
 Clouds were drifting low along the mountain- 
 sides, which the north wind and rain had nearly 
 swept bare of the last heavy fall of snow ; ragged 
 mists were rising here and there, and white torrents 
 rushing down. 
 
 The valley was of a dull, mottled, watery gray, 
 where the half-melted snow still spread, spotted 
 
200 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 with brown knolls, dotted with trees, and marked 
 with the dark zigzag lines of fences. Through 
 the midst rolled the black and swollen river, over- 
 flowing its banks, and effacing the well-known lines 
 of shore. The whole was strangely lighted up by 
 a sky seen through broken and flying clouds. 
 
 " I must hurry," thought Chase, " or I shall find 
 more water on the intervale than I want to wade 
 through." 
 
 The river was still rising. 
 
 The snow itself was half water, and the old tracks 
 through it were mere pools of water, a foot deep, all 
 across the valley. 
 
 Chase had on high rubber boots, which protected 
 him tolerably well. But it was a slow and tedious 
 tramp. 
 
 The water grew deeper and deeper as he advanced, 
 until he noticed that it began to shine and ripple 
 over the surface of snow. 
 
 " The creek is getting its back up ! " thought he. 
 
 He would hardly have known where the river 
 was but for the darker and swifter current, down 
 which rails and driftwood were floating, and for 
 the bridge that guided his course. 
 
 But it no longer resembled a bridge. It looked 
 more like a raft moored in the midst of the flood. 
 
CROSSING THE INTERVALE. 201 
 
 " Somebody is losing some rails," said Chase ; 
 " and I shouldn't wonder if it would take some of 
 Lankton's. Luckily, our fences are all staked and 
 ridered ; floods never hurt them." 
 
 He was thinking that it might be a good thing if 
 a clean sweep were made of the fences in dispute 
 between the two farms, and Lankton were obliged 
 to build new, when he heard a strange noise, and 
 noticed a great turmoil of waters further up the 
 stream. A vast, outspread, tumbling and sweep- 
 ing wave was coming. 
 
 " Something has broke ! " he cried, with a sudden 
 spring forward, — "a dam, or an ice blockade some- 
 where 1 " 
 
 And he dashed forward toward the bridge. 
 
 This was a level way of planks resting on timbers 
 flanked by heavy logs laid across from bank to 
 bank. 
 
 Chase reached it without other mishap than a cold 
 splash, filling his rubber boots, which he now held 
 up, one leg after the other, to empty the water out, 
 resting his hand on one of the logs, and watching 
 the on-coming wave. 
 
 Then first he saw the peril he was in. The flood 
 would undoubtedly rise higher than the bridge, and 
 might sweep it away. 
 
202 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 But it was too late for him to escape to the lane 
 beyond. The valley was like a lake before him as 
 behind, and the rushing billows would be there in a 
 moment. 
 
 They came, bringing floodwood and masses of ice, 
 rolling and crashing with a loud noise. 
 
 Chase glanced wildly from side to side. It 
 seemed as if there must be some escape ! Seeing 
 none, he sprang to the log on the lower edge, 
 resolved to cling to it for his life, whatever hap- 
 pened. 
 
 He had barely clasped it when the waves came, 
 struck the bridge, dashed violently over it, lifting 
 and wrenching it, and burying it and him in an icy 
 torrent. 
 
THE FLOOD. 203 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 MR. ATWAY had driven to the village that 
 afternoon, to see his lawyer. 
 
 As he was hitching his horse at a corner, he was 
 hailed by Jim Lathbrook. , 
 
 "How long 'fore you're goin' back down the 
 valley?" Jim asked, lounging up to him with his 
 usual slouch, and his twitch of the left cheek: 
 
 " I've jest come," replied the farmer. " I've got 
 my plaguy law-suit to look after, and some other 
 errands ; so it may be late before I start. You 
 want to go home?" 
 
 " That's jest what I want," said Jim. " And I 
 ain't one of them fellers that likes to walk all the 
 way when I can ride a part on't." 
 
 " Seems to me it's rather soon for you to be loaf- 
 ing here about the tavern, after the storm," observed 
 the farmer. 
 
 " I was loafin' here when the storm come and 
 ketched me," said Jim. " Don't make much differ- 
 
204 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 ence to me where I be, any way, provided I'm 
 comf table." 
 
 " I'm sure it don't make much difference to any- 
 body else," said the farmer, dryly. "But if you're 
 thinking of going over the mountain, I advise you 
 not to wait for me. If we don't have water on the 
 intervale before night, I shall miss my guess." 
 
 " They say they've had a tear-out' up Cold Crick 
 already," said Jim. " And there's more ice left in 
 Mad Kiver Valley than was ever known afore, at 
 this season of the year. We shall have a spill-over 
 when that comes. But I guess I can git home fust, 
 if I ride part way." 
 
 " There's Pavode's wagon," said Mr. Atway. 
 " Likely he'll be going before I do." 
 
 " Lowmy Pavode ! I'll hook on to him if he'll 
 'low me," laughed Jim. 
 
 It was a heavy farm-wagon with muddy wheels, 
 and a boy sitting on the seat holding the reins. The 
 boy was Lem. 
 
 " Where's your dad ? " asked Jim, lounging up to 
 him. 
 
 " He's in the store there," said Lem. " I'm wait- 
 ing for him;" 
 
 " So 'm I," said Jim, with a merry wink and 
 twitch. " I'm goin' to ride with him. Maybe him 
 
THE FLOOD. 205 
 
 and you don't know it, but it's a'fact; in case you 
 start soon enough to suit my convenience." 
 
 Presently Mr. Pavode came out of the store with 
 some bundles, which he put into the wagon. 
 
 " You'll be welcome to ride," he said to Lath- 
 brook. "But I've got to drive around by the 
 harness-maker's first." 
 
 " All right ! " said Jim, and got in on the seat with 
 Lem and his father. 
 
 It was half an hour before Pavode was at last 
 ready to start for home. 
 
 Just as they were driving off, Mr. AtWay hurried 
 over towards them across the muddy street. 
 
 " According to all accounts," he said, " we're 
 going to haVe the biggest flood in the intervale we've 
 had for some years. If you cross, Jim, I wish 
 you'd try to see my boy — if he hasn't already come 
 home — and tell him to look out for himself. He 
 was with Tomkins in the sugar-bush." 
 
 " I don't go that way 'cept in good weather, and 
 I thought I should try the long way, round by the 
 lower road, to-day," said Jim. "But I'll look after 
 your boy, if you're anxious about him." 
 
 " I'm not particularly anxious," replied the farmer. 
 " He knows we've been expecting high water, and 
 preparing for it. But boys are heedless." 
 
206 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " I'll see hiin," Jim promised, as he rode away. 
 
 " Farmers are pooty gener'ly prepared for a flood, 
 in our valley, I guess," said Mr. Pavode, whipping 
 his horses along the miry track. 
 
 " Chase will know enough to take care of himself," 
 Lem suggested. 
 
 " He'll know enough if anybody does," said 
 Lathbrook. " Smart, Chase is ! Best speller in 
 school ! I s'pose you know about his quarrel with 
 his old friend, his Damon-and-Pythias crony, "Worth 
 Lankton ? " And all of one side of Jim's face gave 
 a tremendous jerk. 
 
 " I know of that to my sorrow ! " said the school- 
 committee man. " 'Twas me that offered the pocket- 
 rifle as a prize. I'd no idee it would lead to any 
 sich trouble ! " 
 
 . " 'Twas kind of a queer thing to offer as a prize 
 to school-boys ! " remarked Jim. " Some folks think 
 all sorts of pistols, and sich-like trash, is dangerous, 
 and won't let their boys touch 'em." 
 
 "A good many blamed me on that account," 
 replied Pavode. " But if boys want to play with 'em 
 and git hurt, they will, spite of ye ; and my idee 
 is, ye may as well trust a boy with a gun, and l'arn 
 him to be careful, as try to keep everything of the 
 kind away from him." 
 
THE FLOOD. 207 
 
 "Jest as you'd learn a boy to swim, 'stead o' 
 tryin^ to keep him away from the water," remarked 
 Lathbrook. 
 
 " Edzacly ! And how did I know Chase would 
 go and shoot Lankton's dog ? or that Worth would 
 spite him by hookin' the rifle? I don't see what 
 they should blame it on me for ! " said the unhappy 
 committee-man. "I s'pose now, if Worth goes to 
 jail, or if the two families go to murderin' each other, 
 I shall have to shoulder the responsibility. " 
 
 " Guess th' aint much danger of Worth's goin' to 
 jail," said Jim. " He'll git off some way. Fellers 
 do. But it's a perry good joke, I call it. Sich 
 friends as them two boys was till they had somethin' 
 to quarrel over ! I told 'em how 'twould be ! " 
 
 He was winking excitedly with one eye, when 
 the other chanced to turn towards the valley, which 
 now came into view beyond an orchard they were 
 passing. 
 
 "Look here, Pavode ! "said he, sobering instantly. 
 "River's gittin' high ! Don't ketch me crossin' the 
 intervale to-night ! " 
 
 " You'll have to go in a boat, unless you go pretty 
 soon," said Lem. " Hark ! what's that noise?" 
 
 It was the coming flood, the far-off roar of which 
 was heard sweeping down the valley. In a minute 
 
208 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 the advance waves appeared, bearing driftwood and 
 ice, and rolling high and wide over the river banks. 
 
 The wild clouds flying before the south wind, the 
 torn vapors drifting along the mountain sides, the 
 black river winding through a plain covered with 
 watery snow, and the turbid, rushing flood spread- 
 ing out, bow-shaped, like some huge creature with 
 plunging beak and wings covering the intervale, ^l 
 all this formed a scene which might well make those 
 viewing it from the high road hold their breath with 
 awe. 
 
 " I never see the like o' that afore ! " said Jim, 
 breaking the momentary silence. " Dams and every- 
 thing has give way ! " 
 
 " Oh, see that fence go ! " exclaimed the excited 
 Lem. " Just like kindling-wood ! " 
 
 " Won't be much but trees and bushes left stickin' 
 out of the water if it keeps comin' as fast as it 
 spreads out," said Jim. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Lem again. " Did you see ? When 
 it came to the bend in the river, it didn't turn out 
 for it at all, but jumped right over ! See those 
 bushes bend and shake as the driftwood strikes 
 'em ! " 
 
 Mr. Pavode, who had unconsciously stopped his 
 horses, now whipped up again vigorously. 
 
THE FLOOD. 209 
 
 " There'll be damage done all along, in spite of 
 everything!" he exclaimed. " Shouldn't wonder if 
 some of my fences would go." 
 
 " And the Lanktons ! Won't they ketch it down 
 in the intervale there ? " said Jim. 
 
 " Their buildings stand pooty high, but some of 
 their shiftlessness outside will git wiped out, I 
 guess," said the farmer, laying on his whip. 
 " Shouldn't wonder if they'd need our help." 
 
 " Whip as fast as you may, the water's outrunnin' 
 us," said Jim. " It goes like a racehorse ! It didn't 
 look as if it went so fast, did it? Glad I ain't 
 crossin' the valley ! " 
 
 " I hope Chase ain't ! " said Lem. " It's down 
 opposite Atway's by this time. Do hurry, pa ! " 
 
 " I can't git along much faster in this 'ere mud," 
 replied his father. 
 
 " It seems to be tamin' down ; ye can't hardly 
 hear it now," said Jim. 
 
 " That's because it's further off, and the orchards 
 hide it again," said Lem. " Gracious ! don't the 
 mud fly?" 
 
 " From heels and wheels ! " said Jim. " I'm git- 
 tin' it on the end of the seat here ! What's the 
 use of hurryin' now? Don't do no good. Fun's 
 over." 
 
210 THE POCKET-RIFLE 
 
 " 'Taint you I'm hunyin' for," said the farmer, 
 who had by this time got his horses into a canter, 
 notwithstanding the flying mud from tires and hoofs. 
 
 " I don't believe I shall git home to-night. Might 
 as well have staid to the village," said Jim. "But 
 then I shouldn't have seen the fun." 
 
 Once more Lem made his excited outcry as they 
 passed an intervening orchard. 
 
 " Oh ! Look ! Atway's bridge ! There ain't a 
 sign of it anywhere ! " 
 
 The bridge had, in fact, gone, and Chase with it. 
 
 He had clung to the log even while the flood 
 overwhelmed and uptore the timbers, and still for a 
 moment afterwards, until he was forced to loose his 
 hold in that rolling chaos. 
 
 It was a strange and terrible moment, during 
 which he thought of many things tumultuously, — 
 his parents, his home, the winning of the prize, 
 which was so much to him once, but nothing to him 
 now, and his wicked quarrel and triumph over his 
 friend. 
 
 Then he was hurled forward amidst the trembling 
 fragments. 
 
 That the bridge had vanished was plain enough 
 to be seen. But who could know what human life 
 was imperilled in its ruins ? 
 
CATCHING DKIFTWOOD. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 CATCHING DKIFTWOOD. 
 
 ME. LANKTON'S house and outbuildings were 
 on a gentle elevation of land which the spring 
 floods seldom reached. Only once or twice had the 
 boys seen the water come into this barnyard ; and 
 though nearer the river, the house stood higher still. 
 
 Anticipating an overflow, Mr. Lankton had that 
 afternoon got his stock into the yard, and otherwise 
 provided for emergencies. 
 
 . Tim was jubilant. He watched the gradual 
 creeping of the waters over the banks, and hoped 
 it would be the biggest flood ever was. 
 
 Even to Worth there was something pleasantly 
 exciting in the wild aspect of the heavens and earth 
 after the storm. Ever since the night of his arrest, 
 there had been a black cloud on his spirit, but now 
 it began to lift. 
 
 He was out watching the river, when some fence- 
 rails, with other driftwood, came floating down. A 
 sudden thought striking him, he ran to the house. 
 
212 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " Get the clothes-line, Tim ! " he called to his 
 brother. " We'll save some of those rails. They'll 
 come in play when we mend our fences." 
 
 The broken fences, which, alas, had been one 
 principal cause of his trouble, were on the boy's 
 conscience ; and he had determined that they should 
 receive some repairs that spring. 
 
 " How can you?" said Tim, bringing the line. 
 
 " I'll show you 1 " 
 
 Worth overhauled a box of old junk in the shed 
 till he found something that suited his purpose. It 
 was the handle of an ancient andiron. With this in 
 one hand, and the line in the other, he ran back to 
 the river. 
 
 "Qh, there's a splendid big rail!" cried Tim, 
 pointing up the river. " Play it's a whale, and 
 you're going to harpoon him ! " 
 
 " Hold on to that end of the line ! " cried Worth. 
 
 At the same time, he tied the other end to his 
 iron. Then, having seen that the coils were free to 
 run out, he waited for the rail. 
 
 The stream, usually narrow and gentle enough, 
 was broad and dark and swift, and so high that the 
 boys already stood ankle-deep in their rubber bootsj 
 well back on the slushy bank. The rail was then 
 three or four rods off, shooting rapidly down. 
 
 V 
 
CATCHING DKIFTWOOD. 213 
 
 As it came opposite, Worth hurled his iron. The 
 coils did not unwind properly, and it fell short. 
 Another fling, a few rods farther down the stream, 
 sent it just beyond the rail. 
 
 " You've harpooned him ! " yelled the gleeful Tim. 
 "Now haul him in?" 
 
 The iron, as it splashed into the water, had 
 earned the line over the rail, which it caught and 
 held by its weight. Worth began to haul in gently, 
 causing the rail to swing in the current towards the 
 shore. There, with Tim's help, it was got out. 
 
 It was exciting sport ; and in pursuit of it, the 
 boys followed up the river bank, along by the edge 
 of the orchard, until they were at some distance from 
 the house. 
 
 Whenever any piece of driftwood worth saving 
 floated by, Worth would fling his iron, and generally 
 draw in his prize. The sticks and rails secured in this 
 way were laid up on the somewhat higher ground 
 of the orchard behind them, until, at the foot of an 
 old russet-tree, they had got a goodly pile. 
 
 Meanwhile the water continued rising, and Worth 
 stood half the time shin-deep in his rubber boots. 
 
 They often had some trouble in getting an unruly 
 "whale" — as Tim called every large stick — out 
 of the water. At length Worth said, — 
 
214 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 "Run to the bam, and get the long-handled 
 pitchfork." 
 
 "Oh yes ! " cried Tim, "we can spear them with 
 that." And off he started. 
 
 Worth now had sole care of the line ; and to 
 avoid the risk of losing it when he flung his iron at 
 a distance, he tied the opposite end to a low branch 
 of the apple-tree. 
 
 As he did so, he remembered that limb ; he 
 remembered that it was the same tree he and Chase 
 had climbed, with ladders and baskets, to pick the 
 russets that last Saturday afternoon when they were 
 friends. 
 
 A sudden recollection of what had happened since 
 then came over him. He gave a great gulp to keep 
 down his rising heart, and saw the knot, which he 
 was slipping up on the limb, through a gust of 
 -tears. Tears of grief and wrath and remorse ; grief 
 for the loss of his happiness and friendship ; wrath 
 for the wrongs he had suffered, and remorse for his 
 own folly. 
 
 How beautiful that friendship was ! How happy 
 they were that day, picking the golden-brown rus- 
 sets in the October sunshine ! What a dream it 
 seemed, and how madly, how utterly it had been 
 destroyed ! 
 
CATCHING DRIFTWOOD. 215 
 
 " He has beat me every time ! " the boy muttered, 
 giving a savage pull at the cord. 
 
 Ah, could he have gone back to the time of that 
 russet-apple picking ! But that was impossible. 
 He had been too bitterly wronged. 
 
 Much as he missed that one too-faithful, too- 
 devoted friend, he was not sure that he cared to 
 have him back. His strong love had turned to 
 stronger hate. 
 
 The tumult of his thoughts, the splashing of 
 his own feet in the water, and the rush of the swift 
 river, had prevented him from giving heed to 
 another noise fast approaching, and drowning all 
 lesser sounds. 
 
 But now it grew upon his ear; and casting his 
 eye up the valley, he saw the great wave coming. 
 He had no thought of danger to himself, though the 
 flood might overtake him and rise over his rubber 
 boots before he could escape through the orchard. 
 But what he was anxious about chiefly was the 
 safety of his pile of driftwood, which had cost him 
 such pains. 
 
 His first thought was to take a turn with his line 
 about a few of the best rails, and leave them moored. 
 But he saw in a few moments that he was too late 
 for that. He had barely time to save himself. 
 
216 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " Go back ! go back ! " he shouted to Tim, coming 
 with the fork on the farther side of the orchard. 
 " The water ! the water ! " 
 
 Tim saw it through the trees. At the same time 
 he saw his brother spring into the apple-tree. That 
 was enough. The boy turned and fled, shrieking, — 
 
 " The water ! the water ! the flood ! " 
 
 Worth had hardly time to draw up his legs, with 
 the heavy rubber boots on, when the first strong 
 rush of the shooting rapids swept under him. 
 
 " This beats all the floods yet ! " he said to himself, 
 securing a position on the limb to which his line was 
 fast. "If I could only save some of that driftwood." 
 
 But instead of saving more, he was in a way to 
 lose what he had already got. His pile was begin- 
 ning to loosen and separate, and float off in the 
 waves that ran up into the orchard. 
 
 " That must be Atway's bridge that has gone to 
 pieces, and I'm glad of it ! " he muttered vin- 
 dictively. 
 
 Just then a faint scream rose above the noise of 
 the flood, and he saw something like a human form 
 clinging to a half-submerged plank. It was coming 
 rapidly down in the main current, and would pass 
 within three or four rods of the tree Worth had 
 climbed. 
 
CATCHING DRIFTWOOD. 217 
 
 He had already reached for his line under the 
 limb, and partly pulled it in. A few yards more 
 drawn up, and the iron would be in his hand. 
 
 His first thrill of surprise and horror was followed 
 by a swift resolve to save a human life. Up came 
 the iron. He grasped it, ready to fling, when he 
 recognized a head rising above the waves, and an 
 imploring and terrified face' turned towards him. 
 
 " It's Chase ? " he said, with a sudden and terrible 
 revulsion of feeling. " Let him go ! " 
 
 Chase had not seen Worth in the tree, but was 
 calling for help in a blind and frantic way. 
 
 He had tried in vain to get his plank out of the 
 main current into shallower and more tranquil water. 
 But he durst not abandon it, for, with his clumsy 
 rubber boots on, there was small chance of swim- 
 ming in such a torrent. 
 
 He was, moreover, aware that something had 
 happened to one of his legs. He had not thought, 
 at first, of any pain-there, but in his struggle among 
 the driftwood and broken timbers, he found, to his 
 dismay, that it was hurt and partly disabled. 
 
 He was free from the driftwood now, and so near 
 Lankton's orchard just ahead ! If he could have 
 succeeded in kicking off his boots, and had two 
 good legs at his service * he might at least have 
 
218 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 reached a tree. As it was, he continued to drift 
 helplessly down. 
 
 Suddenly a shout answered his call, — a well- 
 known, strong, penetrating voice, from the edge 
 of the orchard, as he was borne past. 
 
 M Here, Chase ! look alive ! " 
 
 He glanced up, and saw his foe in the apple-tree, 
 safe above the flood. 
 
 A missile was swinging from a short end of a line 
 in "Worth's hand. He was preparing to heave it, 
 Chase believed, at him. 
 
 " O Worth ! " he shrieked out in his agony. 
 
 " Catch this ! " cried Worth, and hurled his iron. 
 
 It flew high over Chase's head, just before him, 
 and falling with a splash into the river, brought the 
 line down across the plank, within his reach. 
 
 With a sudden hearHeap of hope and gratitude, 
 Chase saw the flying line, and recognized Worth's 
 real intent. 
 
 For Worth had not obeyed his first impulse to 
 drop the iron back into the water, and watch from 
 the tree while his enemy went down. Hard as his 
 heart was towards him, it was not so hard as that. 
 
 "Hold on to it ! " he shouted, "I'll haul you in !" 
 Chase grasped the line and clung fast. _Then Worth 
 laid his breast upon the limb, and with his arms 
 
' With a sudden hetrt-leap of hope and gratitude, Chase saw the flying line, and recognized 
 Worth's real intent." Page 218. 
 
CATCHING DRIFTWOOD. 219 
 
 extended under it, hauled, hand over hand, with all 
 his might. Plank and rider swept around in the 
 current, and moved slowly up towards the tree. 
 
 " Now you're safe ! " cried Worth. " Let your 
 plank go, but hold tight to the line ! " 
 
 Chase obeyed, and scrambling desperately, regard- 
 less of the pain the effort caused his injured leg, 
 with the help of Worth and the rope he mounted 
 into the tree. 
 
 He climbed drippingly upon one low limb, while 
 Worth sat opposite on another, the flood rolling 
 under them. And there, having gathered breath 
 after the last violent struggle, the two enemies, once 
 friends, looked at each other. 
 
Missing Page 
 
220 
 
 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 " W" 0RTH >" Chase gasped out, 
 '» "you and that line saved 
 
 me! I'm ever so much obliged." 
 "You needn't say that," Worth 
 
 replied, stern, but agitated. "I 
 
 would have done the same for 
 
 anybody." 
 
 "I know you would ! " exclaimed 
 
 Chase, brokenly. "Because you 
 
Itf THE APPLE-TREE. 221' 
 
 are the bravest and best fellow in the world — when 
 you've a mind to be." 
 
 Worth scowled sullenly. 
 
 "I always did say that for you, and always 
 will ! " said Chase, weak and trembling. 
 
 " I'd have done it sooner for anybody else ! " 
 "Worth added, grimly, after a pause. " I had a good 
 mind to let you go." 
 
 " I couldn't have blamed you if you had," said 
 Chase. " And maybe you'll be sorry you didn't." 
 
 All courage, all resentment, seemed to have gone 
 out of him with his strength. He was hatless, his 
 drenched hair still dripped with his clothing, he 
 shook from head to foot with terror and cold. 
 
 In the silence that followed, broken by the rushing 
 and gurgling flood, Worth fixed his dark, determined 
 eyes upon him. He noticed that Chase braced him- 
 self with one foot against a crotch of the tree, while 
 he seemed trying to find an easy position for the 
 other. 
 
 Then a little drop of pity started from the sullen 
 heart. 
 
 " Is your leg hurt ? " Worth asked, but still in a 
 cold, forbidding tone. 
 
 " Yes ; it got jammed somehow when the ice and 
 floodwood tumbled over on me. I was so near 
 
222 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 being drowned and bruised to death generally, I 
 didn't mind it till I tried to swim." 
 
 So saying, Chase suppressed a groan, and fixed 
 his brow and lips with a resolute expression, while 
 he tried once more to find ease for his leg. 
 
 There was another silence. Worth looked as if 
 he meant to forget his enemy's presence ; glancing 
 down and around at the wild water. 
 
 A hencoop went by; then a drowned calf, still 
 tied to a rail of its pen which had been carried away 
 with it. Meanwhile the flood rose higher and higher 
 in the orchard, reaching some of the lower limbs, 
 and the trunks even of the trees" that stood on more 
 elevated ground. 
 
 It looked like an orchard growing out of a lake, 
 or rather out of a vast onward-sweeping stream. 
 The flood parted at the knoll on which the buildings 
 stood, flowing around both ways ; but it was fast 
 rising over that. 
 
 Excited and anxious as he was, in view of all 
 this, Worth could not keep his eyes from coming 
 back to Chase, suffering with cold and the pain of 
 his hurt. 
 
 He held his peace as long as he could, and was 
 angry with himself when at last he couldn't help 
 saying, — 
 
IN THE APPLE-TREE. 223 
 
 " Change branches with me ; you can sit easier 
 here, and rest your leg/" 
 
 Chase drew a quick, shivering breath. 
 
 " I'm very well here," he replied, after a pause. 
 " I'm only too thankful to be out of that horrible 
 water, in a dry apple-tree ! " 
 
 " You are cold," Worth then said, seeing how he 
 shook. 
 
 " I don't know but I am — now I think of it," 
 replied the drenched and shuddering boy. "But 
 I'm not half so cold as I was. I tell you, that ice- 
 water made me ache to the very marrow of my 
 bones. I remember it now ; though I hardly thought 
 of it at the time." 
 
 He was getting more and more possession of him- 
 self. Seeing Worth's troubled eyes studying him, 
 he added, — 
 
 " I should have died of cold, sure, if you hadn't 
 helped me out ! " 
 
 The tones of his voice, tremulous and broken, 
 and the look he gave his rescuer, were full of 
 gratitude. That, and the consciousness of having 
 done a humane action, softened Worth's heart more 
 and more, in spite of himself. 
 
 He hesitated awhile, then said, with a sort of 
 surly and unwilling benevolence, — 
 
224 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " You'll take cold ; tie this over your head." 
 
 And pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket he 
 tossed it to his enemy. 
 
 " I don't need it," said Chase. " But, if you say 
 so — By George ! " with a gush of feeling — " you're 
 a trump, Worth ! " 
 
 As he bound the handkerchief over his head, you 
 could hardly have told whether the look with which 
 Worth watched him was more of compassion or of 
 anger. 
 
 Chase was still blue and shaking. After once 
 more looking around on the flood, and trying to 
 forget him, Worth said, — 
 
 " You'll surely get a chill. You'd better put on 
 my coat." 
 
 " Oh no, I won't do that ; you'll be cold yourself ! " 
 Chase objected. " I'm really quite comfortable." 
 
 " I don't want you to die of a chill now I've been 
 to the trouble of helping you out of the water," 
 said Worth, with grim humor. "Nobody knows 
 how long we may have to stay in this tree. Here, 
 you must take it ! " 
 
 And having actually pulled off his coat, he swung 
 it over to Chase. 
 
 " After all I've done to you I " said the wretched, 
 penitent Chase. 
 
IN THE APPLE-TREE. 225 
 
 " You've beat me every time," "Worth muttered. 
 " But never mind. Take it ! " 
 
 And he swung the coat again. 
 
 " Well, if you say so, — for a few minutes, — if 
 I must ! " Chase faltered, this time catching the gar- 
 ment. " But it's too bad ! " seeing that Worth 
 remained in his shirt-sleeves. 
 
 " I shan't miss it ; I've got on warm under- 
 clothes," said Worth. "Pull off your wet one." 
 
 " I'll keep that on," said Chase. " And I'm not 
 going to wet the inside of yours for you." 
 
 So saying, he threw Worth's coat over his shoul- 
 ders inside out, and held it by the sleeves. 
 
 "I should think you might do as 1 say," said 
 Worth, dissatisfied. 
 
 But Chase remained obstinate. It was hard 
 enough for him to accept even thus much from his 
 foe. 
 
 After another silence, he said, — 
 
 " You say I've beaten you. Maybe I have two or 
 three times. But you've beaten me once for all." 
 
 "When, I'd like to know?" said Worth, with 
 sudden, dark recollections. 
 
 ," To-day — now," answered Chase. Worth was 
 visibly moved. 
 
 If you would have your heart soften towards one 
 
226 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 who has injured you, do him a service. Worth had 
 not designed any such result; and when it came, 
 enforced by Chase's reply, it surprised him almost 
 to tears. 
 
 " Do you remember this tree ? "he abruptly asked. 
 
 " It's the russet-tree, where we picked apples that 
 Saturday afternoon," said Chase. 
 
 Then both were silent again, each occupied with 
 his own thoughts. 
 
 Meanwhile, the broken clouds flamed up with a 
 lovely sunset flush, the reflection of which changed 
 all the overflowing valley to a crimson sea. And 
 there the two boys still sat, perched above it, each 
 on his apple-tree limb. 
 
 " Your bridge is gone," said Worth. 
 
 "Yes, and I -went with it," said Chase. "I 
 stuck to a log at first, but it rolled over with me, so 
 I was glad to swap it for a plank. What were you 
 doing here ? " 
 
 " Getting flood-wood," said Worth. " But the 
 flood took back all I had got, and came pretty nigh 
 taking me." He was beginning to appear more like 
 the Worth of old times. 
 
 Just then his father called from the house. 
 
 " Here I am ! safe in a tree ! " Worth shouted 
 back. 
 
IN THE APPLE-TREE. 227 
 
 " We've no boat this year," he said to Chase ; " and 
 he can't help us. Besides, he has his hands full 
 taking care of things,. I guess ! " 
 
 Chase now gave back the coat, declaring that he 
 was quite warm without it. 
 
 " Well, you haven't let it do you much good," said 
 Worth. He took it reluctantly, but hung it over 
 the limb. It was some time before he would con- 
 sent to put it on. 
 
 " I can't see pa anywhere," said Chase, after look- 
 ing anxiously up the valley. " He's away, and don't 
 know anything of what has happened to me?' 
 
 Then he remembered with a wretched sinking of 
 the heart that his father had gone to see about that 
 unhappy " dead-dog law-suit." 
 
 " Worth ! " he said, after another pause of a 
 minute or two, " what a good time we had picking 
 apples in this tree ! Do you remember ? " 
 
 " There are things that can't be forgotten ! " Worth 
 replied, with darkly working features. 
 
 " I wish some things could be ! " exclaimed Chase. 
 "Why couldn't we always have been friends — as 
 we were on that day ? " 
 
 Worth's resentful mood was returning. He 
 flashed an angry look on Chase, and muttered, — 
 
 " It's fine for you to ask that question ! " 
 
228 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 "You may hate me!" said Chase. "But — to 
 think of your doing me this good turn — after all 
 that has happened ! I can't get over it ! " 
 
 Worth was silent a moment, his Up and eye quiv- 
 ering. Then his fury broke forth. 
 
 " There are things I can never forget, and things 
 I can never forgive. I have been treated by you 
 and your father as I didn't believe it possible for 
 human beings to treat another." 
 
 "O Worth!" said Chase, pleadingly. "You 
 know how we were driven to it." 
 
 "The way I was arrested, and taken before a 
 justice, and charged with stealing, with you for a 
 witness against me, in a room full of staring spec- 
 tators ! — I can never get over it, never, never ! " 
 exclaimed Worth, with tears of rage at these recol- 
 lections. 
 
 " I am sorry," was all poor Chase could say. " I 
 am very sorry." 
 
 There was silence again. Worth was actually 
 weeping. 
 
 Chase felt that he had a great deal to say to justify 
 himself for his conduct, and to justify his father, 
 too. But he could not speak it without throwing 
 heavy blame upon Worth ; and it was no time for 
 that. So he held his peace. 
 
IN THE APPLE-TREE. 229 
 
 " I remember what you said to me that Saturday, 
 in this very tree ! " Worth broke forth again, but 
 now with less anger than grief. " You could never 
 bear to be separated from me ; and if I went away 
 from home, you would go too. You were picking 
 apples from the end of that very limb over your 
 head." 
 
 " I remember it," said Chase. 
 
 " And now see what you have done ! See how we 
 are separated ! " said Worth, in passionate anguish 
 of soul. " We are in the same tree again, but 
 thousands of miles apart. If we had remained 
 friends, and I had gone away, and the whole round 
 world had been between us, we should still have 
 been nearer together than we are now, or can ever 
 be again." 
 
 The emotion of his deep and intense nature made 
 him eloquent. In reply to this outburst, Chase could 
 only say, — 
 
 "How could it ever have happened? I don't 
 know ! " 
 
230 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXH. 
 
 LOWMY PAVODE'S BOAT. 
 
 THE water had now nearly ceased to rise, and the 
 turbulence of its first onset had subsided. 
 Having filled the valley, it lay in a tranquil, shining 
 sheet ; with still a powerful current, however, along 
 the old channel. 
 
 The sunset glow faded from the sky and from the 
 flood. The gloom of approaching night was settling 
 down. The wind had died away. There was a chill 
 in the air. The prospect to poor, shivering Chase, 
 at least, was dismal enough. 
 
 After a while Worth got the better of his excited 
 feelings, and said, calmly, — 
 
 " It won't take many hours for the water to go 
 down. But in the mean time I don't like the idea of 
 spending the night in this tree." 
 
 " I could get to your house if it wasn't for my 
 leg," said Chase. " And you can if you don't mind 
 getting wet. That's something I can't recommend ! " 
 
 " But I'm not going to leave you," said Worth. 
 
LOWMY PAVODE'S BOAT. 231 
 
 " I don't care for myself. But you'll get your death 
 from your drenching if you stay here much longer. " 
 
 That sounded like the Worth of old times once 
 more. Chase was afraid to answer, lest he should 
 stir up again recollections of their hideous feud. 
 
 They had had glimpses of the Lanktons gathering 
 up objects adrift about the yard, and saving scared 
 pullets from drowning. Now everything was quiet. 
 The house had escaped, but Worth was sure the 
 water must have reached the barn and stable. 
 
 Mr. Lankton at length appeared at the fence on 
 the upper side of the orchard, and standing knee- 
 deep in water, called out to know how Worth was 
 getting along. 
 
 " Comfortably ; though I don't fancy roosting here 
 all night," Worth replied, saying nothing of Chase, 
 whom his father had not discovered. 
 
 "I'll see to that," Mr. Lankton shouted again. 
 " I'll make some sort of a raft, and bring you off, 
 if you can wait." 
 
 "Hurry up ! " said Worth. 
 
 " What will he think when he sees me ? " said 
 Chase. 
 
 "He'll think as I do, that the sooner you get into 
 dry clothes, the better." 
 
 Then, suddenly, Worth added,' — 
 
232 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " There's a boat down yonder ! It is coming this 
 way." 
 
 " Three persons in it," said Chase. " One rowing, 
 and one pushing with a pole." 
 
 " Let's fly a signal ! " cried Worth. 
 
 He felt in his pocket for his handkerchief, when 
 he remembered that it was on Chase's head. 
 
 Chase pulled it off, and fluttered it from the limb. 
 
 " It will be a good while before they see that," 
 said Worth. " They are keeping in shallow water 
 over the fields. I'll yell at them." 
 
 And he yelled accordingly. 
 
 " They hear ! they see us ! " Chase exclaimed. " It's 
 Lem Pavode in the bow. He swings his hat." 
 
 " It's Lowmy Pavode himself rowing," said Worth. 
 "The stone-walls will be in their way," — as the 
 boat, still keeping well off on the farther side of the 
 river, approached the lane that led from the main 
 road to Mr. Lankton's house. 
 
 But the walls were low. They were Lanhton 
 walls, with frequent gaps where the stones had 
 tumbled out. 
 
 Towards one of the gaps, where the water flowed 
 over, the boat directed its course, and passed it 
 without difficulty. Then, turning down the lane, it 
 found an opening in the other wall between the 
 
LOWMY PAVODE'S BOAT. 233 
 
 bordering elm-trees standing in the flood, and floated 
 through. 
 
 " The man poling," said Chase, " is that wretch 
 Jim Lathbrook. I thought I knew his slouch." 
 
 The boat kept well up on the other side of the 
 river until nearly opposite the boys in the tree, then 
 struck diagonally across the current. 
 
 It was an old flat-bottomed skiff with three or four 
 inches of water in the bottom. Worth hailed it 
 with a glad hurrah. 
 
 " I thought your folks might need a helpin' hand," 
 said Mr. Pavode, after Lem had got hold of the line 
 Worth threw to him. " Hearing you yell, we come 
 to you fust. That ain't Tim with ye ? " 
 
 He had not recognized Worth's companion, bare- 
 headed, in his wet hair. 
 
 " It's Chase ! Chase Atway ! " cried Lem, hauling 
 in the line, and bringing the boat to the tree. 
 
 Jim had dropped his pole and laid hold of the 
 line to help. But he now paused to give a pro- 
 digious twitch of his eye and cheek. 
 
 " If it don't beat all creation ! " he said. " Damon 
 and Pythias up a tree ! " 
 
 "Come aboard," said Mr. Pavode. "You won't 
 mind the leaky boat," he added, as Worth stepped 
 down into it. " There's more water outside than in." 
 
234 
 
 THE POCKET-RIFLE; 
 
 " Come, Chase ! " said Worth, reaching to help 
 him down without injury to his disabled leg. 
 
 "We're all right now." 
 
 " The old boat has been drying up in the barn, all 
 winter," said Lem ; " and we came off without any- 
 thing to bale with." 
 
 "I'm only too glad to get into anything that will 
 
LOWMY PAVODE'S BOAT. 235 
 
 float," said Chase, seating himself at the bow. "I 
 never expected to again, one while." 
 
 "You look as though you'd been in the Water," 
 said Jim. 
 
 "Well, I haye!" said Chase. "I was on our 
 bridge when it went. Can you take me home, Mr. 
 Pavode?" 
 
 "No, he can't," said Worth. "You're going to 
 our house for dry clothes first. Give me an oar. 
 Let go the line, now, Lem ! " 
 
 It was odd to see the boat navigating among the 
 orchard trees. But Chase had something else to 
 think of as they approached the house where he had 
 many a time been welcomed as a friend, but which 
 he had so lately looked upon with dread and hate. • 
 
 He told in a few words of his peril and of his 
 rescue, as the boat floated along by the side of the 
 orchard, and around into the door-yard. 
 
 Worth meanwhile assisted Mr. Pavode at the 
 oars. Lem bailed with his hat. Jim Lathbrook 
 stood in the stern and pushed with the pole, chuck- 
 ling every now and then, and at the close of the 
 boy's story, repeating, with a wink and a twitch, — 
 
 " Beats all ereation ! I never see anything like it. 
 Damon and Pythias up a tree ! " 
 
 Then Mr. Lankton came out in the door-yard to 
 
236 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 meet them, standing in the edge of the water, and 
 glowered with astonishment upon the guest Worth 
 was bringing home. The flood permitted the boat 
 to land almost at the front door. 
 
 " I'm much obliged to you, Pavode," said Mr. 
 Lankton. "I was just rigging up a raft. What's hap- 
 pened to him?" And he glowered again at Chase. 
 
 " He 's been drownded, and he 's got a broken 
 ankle," said Mr. Pavode ; " an' if you can't afford 
 to take him in an' give him some hot whiskey an' 
 dry clo'es, say so ! an' he goes as straight to my 
 house as this leaky ol' tub can carry him." 
 
 " I helped him out of the water, and I'm going to 
 take care of him," said Worth, stepping out of the 
 boat. " Lean on me, Chase." 
 
LOWMY PAVODE'S BOAT. 237 
 
 " I wouldn't refuse shelter to our worst enemies 
 
 as he and his father have been," said Mr. Lankton, 
 sternly. 
 
 " I'd rather go home, if I could," said Chase. 
 "But I'm much obliged to you all. I wish, Lem, 
 if you can get across the water, you would hurry 
 and tell my folks that I'm safe." 
 
 "He shall do that," said Lem's father. "And 
 we'd carry you there, if it wouldn't take so long, 
 workin' agin the stream, an' if you wasn't so cold 
 an' wet." 
 
 "You're so kind!" said Chase, hobbling out of 
 the boat ; " all of you ! " And he entered the house, 
 with Worth's help. 
 
 " Them 's the two boys I had my eye on when I 
 offered the prize to the school," said Mr. Pavode, 
 standing in the boat, which he kept in place with~an 
 oar. "Bright fellers, both on 'em ; an' great friends 
 they was then, till the consarned pocket-rifle played 
 the mischief atween 'em." 
 
 " I wish the pockel>rifle had been in Jericho before 
 ever they saw it ! " said Mr. Lankton. 
 
 " Wal, it seems to be in Jericho now, or some other 
 safe place," remarked Jim Lathbrook. "Mabbe 
 Damon and Pythias '11 make up, now they hain't got 
 that to quarrel about." 
 
238 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " But they accuse my boy of stealing it," said Mr. 
 Lankton. " There's no making up after that." 
 
 "'Tis ruther rough on your boy," chuckled Jim, 
 with his most expressive wink and twitch. " Now 
 what, Pavode?" 
 
 ""We'll set Lem acrost the flood, fust thing," 
 Pavode replied ; " then we'll come back, Lankton, 
 if there's any thing we can do for you." 
 
AFTER THE RESCUE. „ 239 
 
 CHAPTER XXXHI. 
 
 AFTER THE RESCUE. 
 
 MR. ATWAY had, in the mean time, reached 
 home, in anxious haste, to find that his bridge 
 was gone, and that Chase had not arrived. 
 
 "There's only one thing to be done," he said to 
 his wife. " I'll launch the boat, and row across the 
 intervale, and bring him home — if he's in the sugar- 
 bush — and Tomkins with him." 
 
 The boat was covered with boards beside the 
 barn, where it had been hauled up for the winter. 
 Mr.-Atway, having found thole-pins and oars, was 
 dragging: it down to the water, which had risen to 
 the head of the lane, when Lem Pavode ran into the 
 yard, and told him in a few breathless words what 
 had happened to Chase. 
 
 It was fortunate that the father had known nothing 
 of the catastrophe until, with the news of it, came 
 also the news of his son's rescue and safety. His 
 alarm was great enough, as it was. 
 
 " At Lankton's ! my boy at Lankton's ! " he ex- 
 
240 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 claimed. " That's the last place ! — But it's better 
 than the bottom of the river — thank heaven ! " 
 
 With Lem's help, he launched the boat, and 
 pulled away across the field into the swiftest part 
 of the current ; then rowed rapidly down, passing 
 Lankton's orchard, and the russet-tree, which Lem 
 pointed out. 
 
 Eowing out of the current again, below the 
 orchard, he landed at Lankton's front door, and tied 
 the boat to the scraper." But instead of entering 
 there, he went round to the kitchen-door, with which 
 near neighbors were more familiar. 
 
 As he approached, in the deepening twilight, he 
 remembered his last visit — the dog lying dead by 
 the door-step, sprinkled with radiance from the old 
 tin lantern, his gloomy reception, and the quarrel 
 and threats that followed. How little then did he 
 dream that he would be coming again so soon, on 
 such an errand ! 
 
 " Go right in ! " cried Tim, from the open wood- 
 shed, where he stood watching the flood. " Father's 
 in the boat with Mr. Pavode, picking up things. 
 Come here, Lem ! " 
 
 Mr. Atway was not sorry that his enemy was 
 absent. Getting no answer to his knock, he lifted 
 the latch and entered the dim kitchen. There were 
 
AFTER THE RESCUE. 241 
 
 chairs by the stove, and wet clothes hanging over 
 them to dry. A door was ajar, leading into the 
 sitting-room beyond ; and that opened into a bed- 
 room, in which, as he passed on towards it, he heard 
 the sound of voices. 
 
 He paused at the bed-room door, and, his eyes 
 growing accustomed to the gloom, made out two or 
 three figures. 
 
 Mrs. Lankton stood beside the bed, with an 
 empty cup in her hand. Worth was arranging the 
 clothes about the pillow. Closely wrapped in the 
 clothes, with his head on the pillow, was Chase, who, 
 had evidently just risen to take the contents of the 
 cup. 
 
 " O pa ! " he said, being the first to perceive the 
 figure in the dim door-way. " Come here ! " 
 
 Mrs. Lankton stepped aside, to make room for 
 him ; and Mr. Atway advanced quickly to the bed, 
 exclaiming, — 
 
 " My boy ! how are you ? " 
 
 " I'm all right ! " Chase answered, cheerily. 
 " "Worth fished me out of the water, and now they've 
 got me into warm blankete, with two or three cups 
 of something hot inside of me, and a liniment with 
 bandages on my ankle, and I'm as comfortable a» 
 can be ! " 
 
242 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " Mrs. Lankton," said Mr. Atway, troubled and 
 awkward, " I never can thank you and your son ! 
 I'm sorry Chase has caused you any trouble — I've 
 come with a boat — are you a'ble go home ? You 
 must have a doctor to your foot. Is it much hurt ? " 
 
 Before Chase could answer these questions, Mrs. 
 Lankton spoke for him ; Worth, meanwhile, walking 
 off into the next room. 
 
 " I don't think any bones are broken ; but I beg 
 of you not to think of moving him now. He is 
 just getting into a sweat, and a chill might be very 
 dangerous. If you think the doctor is necessary, 
 you can bring him here." 
 
 So saying, Mrs. Lankton followed Worth. 
 
 " I don't know what to do ; I don't know what to 
 say ! " Mr. Atway murmured, in the most painful 
 anxiety and embarrassment. 
 
 " Don't say anything ; don't do anything," replied 
 Chase. " Any way, don't think of moving me just 
 yet. They've saved my life, and I'm sure the best 
 way to thank them will be to let them keep me here 
 to-night." 
 
 " I don't know but yofc're right," said his father. 
 " It's a terrible thing ! How did it happen ? " 
 
 In simple and few words Chase related his ad- 
 ventures. 
 
AFTER THE RESCUE. 243 
 
 Mr. Atway was a strong man, but he was affected 
 to tears upon hearing how nearly his clear boy had 
 escaped death, and how he had been saved. 
 
 Mrs. Lankton presently reappeared, pale and 
 meekly patient, bringing in a lighted lamp, which 
 she placed upon the table. 
 
 "If you say so," said Mr. Atway, "I will leave 
 him here a while — till he gets quite over his chill 
 — and bring the doctor — though I regret so much 
 to trouble you." 
 
 " Don't speak of trouble ! " she replied, tremu- 
 lously. " Neither "Worth nor I would be willing to 
 have him moved to-night." 
 
 There was a painful pause ; then she added, with 
 tears breaking into her voice, — 
 
 "I always liked Chase ! It seems now as if one of 
 my own boys had been away, and come back to me." 
 
 " I'm as sorry as anybody that there has ever been 
 any difficulty," Mr. Atway replied. " And I think, 
 now, if your husband only thought and felt as you 
 do, it might all be settled. I'll leave Chase, if you 
 say so." 
 
 " Tell ma not to be wftrried about me," Chase 
 said, as his father was taking leave. " I shan't be 
 sick ; and I don't believe my ankle needs the doctor 
 — she has taken such good care of me ! " 
 
244 
 
 THE POCKET-EIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV. 
 
 "DAMON AND PYTHIAS." 
 
 FOE a while the boy was left entirely alone, with 
 only the lamp and his own excited thoughts for 
 company. Then Mrs. Lankton brought him some 
 gruel. Then, while he was sitting up, eating it, 
 Worth came in and sat by his bed. 
 
 They talked about the flood ; then, after an em- 
 barrassing silence, Chase said, — 
 
 " It's you and I, Worth, who have got our fathers 
 into a scrape, and I wish you and I might settle it." 
 
 " So we might," Worth replied, with a shade of 
 the old resentment crossing his features, " if your 
 father hadn't had me prosecuted." 
 
 Chase was trying to frame a friendly answer, 
 excusing his father without offending Worth, when 
 Worth broke out, — 
 
 "Do you really imagine I stole your pocket- 
 rifle?" 
 
 " Why, of course," faltered Chase. " I had — no 
 doubt but that you — took it. Didn't you ? " 
 
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 245 
 
 " No, sir ! " Worth declared with strong feeling. " I 
 never saw it after you went into the sugar-bush with 
 it that day. And I never touched it. Do you think 
 I stood up there in the court and perjured myself?" 
 
 " I never believed you would do that," said Chase. 
 " But why wouldn't you explain, when Squire Hol- 
 gate asked you what you followed me for ? " 
 
 " Because I was after the pocket-rifle then ; I was 
 mad, and meant to get it and destroy it," Worth 
 declared. 
 
 " That's just what I supposed you wanted to do, 
 and what I supposed you did," said Chase. 
 
 " You were partly mistaken — just as you have 
 been about other things," Worth replied. " My 
 motive was bad enough ; I could have broken the 
 thing over your head ! " 
 
 "Why didn't you?" 
 
 " I didn't know where to find it. I had no idea 
 it was hung up there in the shanty. I thought you 
 had it in your pocket ; and of course I couldn't get 
 it from you while Tomkins was about. So I finally 
 gave it up and came home." 
 
 " Why didn't you say that to the judge ? " 
 
 " Because, if I had confessed what I meant to do, 
 it would have been evidence against myself. Who 
 would have believed me after that ? " 
 
246 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " I would ! I believe you now ! " exclaimed Chase, 
 over his bowl of gruel. " We have quarrelled ; we 
 have both acted like fools ! But I know you of old, 
 Worth Lankton ! and when you talk out as you do 
 now, I know you are telling the truth." 
 
 Worth was touched by this generous tribute. 
 
 " Then maybe you will believe me when I say 
 something else." 
 
 "What?" cried Chase. 
 
 " The thing that first turned you against me," said 
 Worth. " For I believe you were really my friend 
 up to that time." 
 
 "What time?" 
 . " That Saturday night, when, as you accused me 
 afterwards, I got into the school-house for my 
 speller." Worth hesitated, and Chase exclaimed : 
 
 " That hurt me terribly, Worth ! Nothing that 
 ever happened, before or since, ever hurt me so 
 much. To think that you — after I had proposed 
 to go with you and you had refused to do what you 
 called so mean a thing — that you should then go 
 alone, and act as you did about it, you can't wonder 
 that I felt so." 
 
 " No ! But I didn't know that you knew, and I 
 thought you were turning against me without any 
 good cause. Now let me tell you ! " 
 
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 
 
 247 
 
 " Do ! " Chase implored. " I can forgive any- 
 thing now ; but I want to know the truth." 
 He had quite forgotten to eat his gruel. He held 
 
 ! 
 
 ■IF 
 
 the bowl in his lap, sitting up there in bed, in the 
 dim lamplight, and listened with absorbed interest 
 to Worth's explanation. 
 
248 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 w I'll tell you all about it," said Worth. " After I 
 refused to go with you, I thought better of it ; and 
 went up by your house, hoping you would come out 
 and suggest the thing again. But I was ashamed 
 to propose it to you, after what I had said. As I 
 didn't see you, I kept on towards the school-house ; 
 then it finally occurred to me that I would climb in 
 and get both spellers, and give you yours as I went 
 along back." 
 
 " Why didn't you ? " said Chase, anxiously. " That 
 would have saved all this ! " 
 
 " Perhaps ; and perhaps not," said Worth. " Any 
 way, I couldn't find your speller, and had to come 
 away without it. And I'll tell you what I thought : 
 I thought you had been there before me and taken 
 it away. I couldn't blame you if you had, for jou 
 had proposed the thing to me frankly, and you had 
 a right to go alone if I wouldn't go with you." 
 
 " But why — why didn't you tell me afterwards — 
 that Monday morning ? " Chase implored. - 
 
 "I meant to. But I wanted to see if you had 
 your book. And when I found you didn't have it, 
 I was really ashamed to tell you what I had done. 
 I didn't know how to explain it. We found your 
 book on the floor, you remember." 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed Chase ; " and I remember more 
 
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 249 
 
 than you ever suspected ! But why didn't you 
 explain all this when we finally quarrelled, and I 
 accused you, as you say ? " 
 
 " I was so astonished when I found that you knew 
 my secret, and what you said made me so mad, 
 that I couldn't say a word till you had got out of 
 the way. How did you ever find it out, Chase ? " 
 
 " I was in the school-house, hidden behind the 
 desks, when you got in," Chase confessed. " I had 
 already taken my spelling-book, and that's the reason 
 you couldn't find it." 
 
 " But why did you hide ? " said "Worth, astonished. 
 
 "Because I thought you had meant to deceive 
 me ; and I waited to see if you would really take 
 away your speller, after what you had said. When 
 I found that you had taken it," Chase continued, " I 
 just flung mine at the corner there, where we found 
 it the next Monday, and went home, thinking I 
 would have nothing to do with that prize business." 
 
 "Then you really determined not to compete? " 
 Worth eagerly inquired. 
 
 " Really ! " answered Chase. " I was so hurt and 
 so unhappy that I never wanted to see a spelling- 
 book again." 
 
 "Why did you change about so, then?" Worth 
 exclaimed. 
 
250 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 " I was provoked at what I saw in you that 
 Monday, — or thought I saw," Chase confessed. 
 " and I made-up my mind to do all I could to keep 
 you from getting the prize, and to help Lem get it. 
 I never thought of winning it for myself until after 
 Lem failed." 
 
 " I wish we had understood each other ! " said 
 Worth. 
 
 " It would have saved all this trouble between us," 
 said Chase. 
 
 " It might ; but, as I said before, it might not," 
 replied Worth, humbly. "There's something in 
 me, — I know it better than anybody, and I would 
 give anything to get it out of me ! A dreadful 
 disposition ! I can never bear to be beaten in 
 anything." 
 
 " I have often regretted to see that feeling in you, 
 Worth." 
 
 "It is a mean, miserable, selfish feeling, exclaimed 
 Worth, bitterly. " I wonder that you bore with it 
 as long as you did." 
 
 " That was because I saw what you were, in spite 
 of it," said Chase, with his old fervor of frieTndship. 
 
 " Now that I know why you turned against me, 
 I can't blame you for anything," Worth admitted, 
 after a pause. " I don't blame you for shooting the 
 
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 251 
 
 dog. No, nor for thinking I took the pocket-rifle. 
 Though I half believed at one time it wasn't stolen 
 at all." 
 
 " How so ? " Chase asked. 
 
 " I thought it was all a put up job on the part of 
 your folks," Worth replied, " to pay us off for the 
 law-suit." 
 
 " O Worth, how could you think that ? " said 
 Chase. " What things we have been ready to 
 believe of each other ! " After a pause, he added : 
 " But it was because your father had sued him that 
 pa made the complaint, and had you taken up. 
 How I wish he hadn't ! It's all a miserable muss, 
 any way." 
 
 Worth sat gloomily brooding over his trouble, 
 when Chase broke out again, — 
 
 " It's a perfect mystery what did become of that 
 pocket-rifle ! I'd give anything to know ! " 
 
 " So would I ! " said Worth. 
 * Mr. Atway now came in with the doctor. 
 
 The bruised leg was examined and dressed anew ; 
 and Chase was then left for the night. But in the 
 morning, his father came again to take him away. 
 
 The boy was weak, but free from fever ; and with 
 no other bad effect of his accident than what re- 
 mained in his swollen and painful limb. 
 
252 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 Mr. Atway carried him in his arms to the boat, 
 and with Worth's help placed him, warmly wrapped, 
 on cushions prepared for him. Then came the final 
 leave-taking. 
 
 Worth was once more the Worth of other days. 
 And Mrs. Lankton was kind to the last. But her 
 husband had few and very curt words in response 
 to Mr. Atway's grateful acknowledgments of what 
 had been done for Chase ; and he saw the boat 
 depart with a stern, relentless frown. 
 
 The day was fine. The morning light shone 
 brightly across the water, which still flooded the 
 fields and the lower half of Mr. Lankton's orchard, 
 and rippled like a lake in the freshly blowing 
 breeze. 
 
 A pair of bluebirds were singing in the topmost 
 boughs of the old russet-tree, as the boat passed 
 under it. Where could they have come from so 
 suddenly after the storm? 
 
 Chase, telling again his story, asked anxiously if 
 the prosecution against Worth could not be stopped. 
 
 " I don't know," said his father, gravely. " If 
 you really think he didn't take the rifle — " 
 
 " Oh, I'm sure of it ! " Chase exclaimed. 
 
 " Well, I'll see what I can do ; I'll consult Squire 
 Holgate this very forenoon." 
 
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 253 
 
 They crossed the river near the site of the old 
 bridge, the absence of which gave them much to 
 talk and think about. Then, landing in the lane, 
 Mr. Atway once more lifted Chase in his arms and 
 bore him to the house. 
 
 " O my boy ! " said his mother, embracing him, 
 and weeping over him. " It has been all I could do 
 to keep from going to you ! " 
 
 Leaving him in her loving hands, Mr. Atway set 
 off early to see and consult Squire Holgate. When 
 he came home again, in the course of an hour or 
 two, he was looking very serious. 
 
 "How is it?" Chase asked, from the lounge, where 
 he sat nursing his leg. 
 
 "I couldn't get much satisfaction out of the 
 squire," replied his father. " Of course he had to 
 remind me how hard he tried to have the matter 
 settled. But now it has gone beyond his control, 
 and it's not very agreeable news we get from it." 
 
 " Not more trouble, I hope," said Chase. 
 
 " Nothing but what we've been expecting," replied 
 his father. " But it's bad, as the thing has turned. - 
 The grand jury has found a bill of indictment against 
 Worth for stealing the pocket-rifle." 
 
254 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV, 
 
 LAUNCHING THE BOULDER. 
 
 THE flood subsided rapidly. By noon the valley, 
 which had been white when last seen, reap- 
 peared, swept of the last vestige of snow, and also 
 of fences here and there, which had not, like those 
 of the most careful farmers, been built to stay. 
 
 Even at high-water, the stakes and riders of Mr. 
 Atway's fences could be seen bristling above the 
 flood and marking the boundaries of his submerged 
 fields. And there they remained after it went 
 down. But of Mr. Lankton's part of the fence, 
 which had given both families so much trouble, 
 scarcely a length was left. 
 
 " I can't say I'm very sorry," Mr. Atway re- 
 marked, looking out on the valley from the window 
 by Chase's lounge. " Now something will have to 
 be done. And I'll tell you what, my boy ! This is 
 the second time I've lost a bridge there ; the next 
 one we'll build to stand." 
 
 "I was surprised that Mr. Lankt6n's didn't go 
 too," said Chase. 
 
LAUNCHING THE BOULDER. 255 
 
 " His is higher than ours was," replied his father ; 
 " and the flood, spreading out, had spent much of its 
 force before it got there. I'm glad Lankton had 
 one piece of luck." 
 
 Parents and son firmly believed that his preser- 
 vation was due to Worth ; and they were grateful 
 accordingly. Chase begged his father to make peace 
 with Mr. Lankton. 
 
 "I suppose there's only one way," Mr. Atway 
 replied. "But I don't mind — I'll pay for their 
 pesky pup, and settle it." 
 
 " I wish you would ! " said Chase. " They'll need 
 the money towards rebuilding their fences." 
 
 " That's a good idea," rejoined his father. " I'll 
 hint it to Lankton." 
 
 As soon as Chase was able to ride out comforta- 
 bly, his father, one afternoon, took him over to Mr. 
 Lankton's to make a neighborly call, and once more 
 acknowledge thankfully Worth's generous conduct 
 and his mother's kindness. 
 
 Then Mr. Atway made a proffer of services, in 
 repairing damages done by the flood, and re- 
 marked, — 
 
 " You've had bad luck with fences, Lankton ; and 
 I don't mind helping you replace the one between 
 our fields — to the extent of twenty-five dollars, any 
 
256 THE fOOKET-RISLE. 
 
 way, the value you put on your dpg. " Yes," he 
 added, after a moment's reflection, " and I'll pay 
 costs, too, if that will be satisfactory." 
 
 "It will be satisfactory as far as it goes," said 
 Lankton. 
 
 He continued sullen, in spite of neighborly ad- 
 vances ; and would not be conciliated as long as the 
 indictment hung over his son. 
 
 " You don't believe he took that pocket-rifle any 
 more than I do ! " he said, with rising wrath. 
 
 " I own, I now think as you do," replied Mr. 
 Atway ; " and I'll do what I can to have the indict- 
 ment quashed. But when Squire Holgate asked me 
 if any new facts had been developed since my sworn 
 statement, I was obliged to answer no. He said a 
 mere change of opinion on my part, since your folks 
 had done us a favor, wouldn't have much influence 
 with the district attorney. There's where it stands; 
 I wish the plaguy thing could be found ! " 
 
 " When my ankle gets well, I'm going to have 
 another good hunt for it," said Chase. ■ 
 
 " Let me go with you," said Worth. 
 
 "Oh ! will you? " cried Chase, gladly. 
 
 The thing was thus agreed upon. The lame leg 
 mended rapidly, and it was not many days before 
 the two boys set off on their expedition. 
 
LAUNCHING THE BOULDER. 257 
 
 It was a mild and pleasant forenoon. Robins and 
 finches sang to them on fence and tree as they 
 passed. On the edge of the woods they stopped to 
 look back upon the intervale, already beginning to 
 appear green in the warm spring sun. 
 
 It seemed like a dream to them, that all that 
 bright valley had been deluged by rain and thaw 
 only a little while before. 
 
 It seemed like a dream no less, that they two had 
 ever quarrelled. Their old friendship, so lately 
 lost, was now restored, all the richer, perhaps, 
 for the flood of passion beneath which it had been 
 hidden but not destroyed. 
 
 They came together now as never before. They 
 understood each other better ; each knew the other's 
 weaknesses, and made allowance for them. Chase, 
 especially, had taken to heart this lesson — that, in 
 the life we live there is no faultless hero or friend ; 
 and that if we wait for perfection, we shall never 
 love. 
 
 They- entered the spacious woods. Quails and 
 squirrels started up before them, rustling the dead 
 leaves ; crows cawed musically afar off in the tall 
 tops. The wild fragrance of woods in early spring 
 'iiled the air. The forest was like a mighty harp to 
 the sweeping wind. 
 
258 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 In the glow of health and sympathy, the boys 
 were happy. Full of hope, and eager in their quest, 
 they talked and laughed gayly, and ran up to the old 
 sugar-camp with glad shouts. 
 
 This had been deserted since the last interruption 
 of the sugar-making ; and the shanty was filled with 
 sap-buckets, which they tumbled out in their hurried 
 but thorough search. Outside and in, even under the 
 floor of rough boards, they looked, but in vain. 
 
 " There's certainly no pocket-rifle here," Worth at 
 length admitted ; and reluctantly the sap-buckets 
 were replaced. 
 
 They then wandered through the woods, until, 
 coming to an opening, they looked up the mountain- 
 side and saw the great boulder hanging on its crag. 
 
 Chase had taken a hatchet which had been left at 
 the shanty, in order to carry it home. An idea now 
 occurred to him. 
 
 "Let us go up there, Worth, cut some stout 
 levers, and have the fun with the big rock we talked 
 about last fall." 
 
 " Agreed," said Worth. 
 
 They passed along the upper side of the dense 
 thicket in their ascent, and cut some strong hickory 
 saplings for their purpose ; shoving them up over the 
 edge of the cliff, and then clambering after them. 
 
LAUNCHING THE BOULDER. 259 
 
 Once more the valley lay spread out before them, 
 like a map, with its checkered farms and long, wind- 
 ing river. They sat down to rest a few minutes 
 and enjoy the prospect. 
 
 " A good deal has happened since we had that talk 
 with Jim Lathbrook up here," said Chase. " How 
 often I have thought of it, and how ashamed it has 
 made me ! To think that what a worthless fellow 
 like him said to us about friendship should ever have 
 come true — with you and me, Worth ! " 
 
 "It was humiliating," replied Worth. "But, 
 after all, what people said was nothing to what I 
 suffered from the quarrel. How I missed you, 
 Chase ! " 
 
 "Did you?" said Chase. "Well, it is all over 
 now ; and I should be perfectly happy if we could 
 find that pocket-rifle. Not that I care for it. But 
 on your account, Worth." 
 
 " I believe it has gone the way of a good many 
 things that have disappeared mysteriously from our 
 town the past year or two," said Worth. "But the 
 trouble will be to prove it ; or to prove that I didn't 
 steal it." 
 
 " Don't let's worry ; I'm sure you will come out 
 all right," said Chase. 
 
 " The wind is always cold up here ! " suddenly 
 
260 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 exclaimed Worth, starting to his feet. " Now let's 
 see what we can do." 
 
 They rolled some big stones to the spot, to serve 
 as fulcrums and props ; all the while keeping up 
 their friendly chat. 
 
 " I wish you knew what a picture you were, Chase, 
 when you sat here by the rock that day and talked 
 to Lathbrook, and told him the story of Damon and 
 Pythias. You were fine ! How often, when I was 
 mad with you, -I remembered how you looked then, 
 and how proud and happy you made me ! " 
 
 " I saw it in your eye at the time," said Chase. 
 " I wasn't talking to Lathbrook ; I was really talking 
 to you. Now slip your handspike under ! " 
 
 " I believe I move it ! " cried Worth, swinging 
 down on his lever. 
 
 " Of course you do ! Now hold it till I get a 
 bite. There ! Clap a stone under." 
 
 " Every time I have looked up from the valley 
 and seen this rock," said Worth, " I've thought of 
 Lathbrook and his triumph over us ; and I shall be 
 glad to get it out of the way." 
 
 " I wish he was here to see us work together 
 sending it down," said Chase. 
 
 " It moves easily now ; we've got it almost on its 
 centre of gravity. Won't it -make a rumpus in the 
 
LAUNCHING THE BOULDER. 
 
 261 
 
 thickets down there ! " And he paused to give a 
 glance over the brow of the cliff. 
 
 "She's all ready!" said Worth. "I believe 
 another bite will send her over." 
 
 " Wait till I shove another stone under. Now rest 
 on it," said Chase, " while we get everything ready. 
 
 I believe if 'twasn't for the forest trees, it would roll 
 half-way to the river." 
 
 "Say the word," cried Worth, getting another 
 hold with his lever. 
 
 "Now! "said Chase. 
 
 Down went the long end of the lever a foot or 
 two. Up went the short end an inch. But that 
 inch was enough. 
 
 The enormous rock poised an instant on its bal- 
 
262 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 lancing point, then slowly, sleepily at first, began to 
 settle over the other way. 
 
 " She's going ! " cried Chase, in high excitement. 
 
 There was a moment's hesitation on the part of 
 the mighty boulder ; having rested for unknown cen- 
 turies on that world-surveying crest of the mountain, 
 it seemed reluctant to make up its mind to move. 
 
 But suddenly the mossy cushion and accumulated 
 soil under its lower edge gave way ; the granite foot 
 crushed to the ledge ; and the tremendous body of 
 stone, revolving, gave a sluggish, clumsy, wallowing 
 plunge over the cliff. 
 
 A plunge, a leap, a crashing bound into the thicket, 
 like some huge creature dashing at its prey ; swift 
 and swifter, the stout saplings breaking before it 
 like straw; rushing and tearing down a broad 
 straight furrow to the woods, with tremendous tur- 
 moil of flying earth and boughs ! 
 
 Even the larger trees did not stop it. Stems a 
 foot thick split and splintered before it, and lofty 
 tops went crackling and crashing down. 
 
 The boys looked at each other in sudden terror at 
 what they had done. What if the stupendous 
 missile should cut its way clear through the forest, 
 and land like an aerolite from heaven in the meadow 
 below. 
 
LAUNCHING THE BOULDER. 263 
 
 But even while their nerves were thrilling with 
 this conjecture, huge trunks and projecting ledges 
 brought the monster to terms in a hollow of the 
 mountain-side. And suddenly all was still. Only 
 a woman screamed. 
 
264 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE RUINED HUT. 
 
 SUCH a wild, shrill shriek it was ! It came from 
 the woods below, through which the stone had 
 mown its frightful swath. 
 
 No sooner were the boys relieved from their first 
 apprehension than a fresh fear filled them. 
 
 " There's somebody hurt ! " said Chase. 
 
 " What have we done ? " exclaimed Worth. 
 
 Then one impulse seized them both, to follow the 
 boulder and find what fatal mischief it had wrought. 
 
 Down the face of the cliff they went, in the path 
 already made for them, holding on by saplings, 
 dropping from ledge to ledge, and picking their 
 way over rocks and splintered stems; a terrible 
 descent ! 
 
 The cries had ceased ; but the trade of the boulder 
 guided them to the spot whence they had arisen ; 
 and there an amazing sight met their eyes. 
 
 In the midst of the dense thickets was a bare, 
 rugged, rocky shelf, about which grew a fewltrunks 
 
THE RUINED HUT. 265 
 
 of considerable size. The boulder had swept down 
 two or three of these ; and one of them in falling, 
 with its outspread limbs, had crushed a cabin almost 
 as your fingers would with a blow crush an egg- 
 shell. 
 
 The ruin lay a mere flattened mass of broken 
 boards, held down by the shattered branches, which 
 the woman was wildly endeavoring to tear away. 
 
 "What's the matter? Who's hurt?" cried both 
 boys, as with one breath, springing to the lichen- 
 covered ledge. 
 
 « My husband ! O Lord ! O Lord ! he is killed ! " 
 said the woman, falling back from her vain efforts, 
 and despairingly throwing up her hands. 
 
 " Jim Lathbrook ! " exclaimed Chase — for the 
 woman was Sal. " What is this ? how came you 
 here?" 
 
 " Help me git him out ! " said the terrified wife. 
 " It's a judgment from heaven ! O Lord ! O Lord ! " 
 
 " We can do nothing without the hatchet," said 
 Worth. They had left that, in their haste, on the 
 top of the cliff. " I'll go for it." And he recom- 
 menced the toilsome ascent. 
 
 Crushed as the hut was, the boards of the roof, 
 composed of two or three thicknesses, were so held 
 together by nails, and so pressed down by the 
 
266 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 weight of the tree, that Chase, even with Worth's 
 help, had been unable to move them ; so now, while 
 waiting, he turned to question the woman. 
 
 "He was asleep," she said. "But I heard the 
 noise jest in time, and run out." 
 
 " I thought you lived up over the mountain," said 
 Chase. 
 
 " We do, but in an evil hour we built this cabin 
 here. It's a judgment upon us for our sins ! O 
 Lord ! " and the wretched Sal wrung her hands. 
 
 " How could you build it here ? Where did you 
 get the material ? " 
 
 " We brought the boards from your old sugar- 
 house." 
 
 " But that was burnt ! " 
 
 " It was burnt after we had took what we wanted 
 from it. Then Jim set the rest afire to hide what 
 we had done. Jim and me brought the stuff up 
 through the woods to build this hiding-place to keep 
 our things in. O Lord ! O Lord ! " 
 
 Chase was beginning to recover from his fright 
 and bewilderment enough to understand. 
 
 "Oh yes, your things! "he said, keenly eyeing 
 the poor woman. " I see ! " 
 
 " If it was anything to eat, we could keep it here 
 till we wanted it," she went on, as if the only relief 
 
THE RUINED HUT. 2()7 
 
 to her terror was in swift confession. " If it was 
 something to raise money on, we would hide it till 
 the excitement Mowed over, and we could take it 
 away. But the Lord has found us out ! O Lord ! 
 O Lord ! " 
 
 " I hope Jim isn't dead ! " said Chase. 
 
 " I know he is ! " replied Sal. " He'd be makin' 
 some sort of a noise if he wasn't. I allers told him 
 'twould end somehow so. But both on us hated 
 work. All we ever done any work for was jest to 
 git into houses and see what there was to take." 
 
 " It's a wonder you could carry on your trade so 
 long without being suspected?" said Chase. 
 
 " That's 'cause we was careful not to keep anything 
 to home ; though we have been 'spected, and our 
 house has been watched. But we was too sly for 
 anybody ! It took the Lord Himself to ketch us ! 
 And He has ketched us ! O Lord ! 
 
 Worth coming with the hatchet, both boys set to 
 work to cut and tear away the branches that held 
 the ruin down, then to separate and remove the 
 boards. 
 
 The woman watched them gratefully, helping a 
 little now and then, but oftener standing by wring- 
 ing her hands, and uttering her one ejaculation of 
 repentance and superstitious fear. 
 
268 
 
 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 At length a boot came to light through an opening 
 the boys made in the wreck. " That's him ! That 's 
 Jim's leg ! " shrieked Sal. " Is he dead ? " 
 
 A good leg was in fact 
 found in the boot. At- 
 tached to the leg was a 
 body in tolerably good 
 condition, considering 
 i't the circumstances. And 
 out of the body, when it 
 was fairly re- 
 lieved of its 
 load, issued 
 !^\\ a g°°d lusty 
 *<3 groan. 
 
 "Jim! O 
 
 ( <^p Jim ! be ye 
 
 alive ? " said 
 
 Sal, stooping to him under the overhanging trees. 
 " Say you're alive ! " 
 
 " Guess so ! Blessed if I know much about it ! " 
 said Jim. 
 
 The last of the rubbish being removed, he sat 
 up, with Sal's assistance, looked at her, then at the 
 boys, and put this comprehensive question : 
 "What's all the row?" 
 
THE RUINED HUT. 269 
 
 The boys, ■who had greatly feared to find him 
 dead or fatally injured, shared her joy at seeing 
 him come out of his swoon with no worse damage, 
 apparently, than a broken shoulder and a bruised 
 head. 
 
 Blood was streaming down one side of his face ; 
 and it was interesting to see that the other side was 
 still able to give its vivacious wink and twitch. 
 
 " I didn't quite know ye at fust. But I guess I 
 know ye now ! " 
 
 "Yes, you ought to, Jim," said Chase. "It's 
 Damon and Pythias ! " 
 
 " Damon and Pythias ! " he repeated, with another 
 twitch, accompanied by a ghastly grin. " What in 
 thunder do you want here ? What's been and gone 
 and done this ? " 
 
 " The boulder has been tumbling down on you a 
 little," said Chase. " That's all ! " 
 
 " I should think it was enough ! " groaned Jim, 
 and swooned again. 
 
 They drew him out of the ruin, and laid him on 
 the ledge, with his head and injured shoulder in the 
 lap of the faithful Sal. 
 
 When he once more came to himself, he saw the 
 boys uncovering from the wreck an astonishing 
 miscellany of articles plundered from the town. 
 
270 
 
 THE POCKET-RIFLE. 
 
 An axe, which Chase recognized as his father's. 
 A firkin-cover, bearing the name of "Z. Pavode," 
 the firkin itself, half-full of butter (afterwards 
 
 proved to be of Mrs. Pavode's making) in pretty 
 
 good condition. 
 
 A cheese, badly smashed. 
 
 An auger, to which Worth confidently laid claim. 
 It had been missing from his father's barn for a 
 
THE RUINED HUT. 271 
 
 year. Together with a great variety of objects, 
 useful and otherwise ; among which was one which 
 made Chase scream for joy. 
 
 It was the pocketrrifle ! 
 
 "It's broken," he said, puUing it out from the 
 heap, and holding it up. " But no matter. The 
 mystery is solved. Hurrah ! " 
 
272 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVII. 
 
 HOW IT ALL ENDED. 
 
 " T^OU 'VE ruther got ahead of me here, boys ! " 
 
 JL said Jim, with a rueful twitch of his eye and 
 cheek. " Take everything ! but give me time to 
 mend my broken bones, and git away, and your 
 town will never see hide or hair of me agin." 
 
 " We'll see about that ! " cried Chase. 
 
 And leaving "Worth to keep guard over the plun- 
 der and the plunderers, he followed the boulder's 
 furrow down into the woods, and hurried thence 
 across the valley. 
 
 Mr. Lankton, Mr. Atway, Mr. Pavode, and two 
 or three other neighbors, with Lem and Tim, and a 
 lively following of boys, accompanied him to the 
 scene of the catastrophe. 
 
 Jim was sitting up, but still unable to walk ; so 
 that he enjoyed a ride on a litter constructed of 
 poles and boughs, and carried by the men on their 
 return. 
 
 His hut had been demolished and his private store 
 
HOW IT ALL ENDED. 273 
 
 was taken away, to be restored to numerous claim- 
 ants. But he now had a surgeon for his wounds at 
 the public expense, and food and lodging in the 
 county jail. 
 
 The excitement of the adventure, together with 
 the discovery of several articles belonging to him 
 beside the auger, — and especially the finding of 
 the pocket-rifle, — put Mr. Lankton into unusually 
 good spirits, and led to a complete reconciliation 
 between him and his neighbor. 
 
 Both the lawsuit and the case against Worth were 
 dropped. The farmers and their boys " changed 
 works " while rebuilding Atway's bridge, and placing 
 a good strong post-and-wire fence between the two 
 farms. 
 
 The pocket-rifle was never mended, but hung up 
 by Chase as a memento. And the two friends were 
 happy. 
 
 Sal was let go ; but Jim, after his recovery, was 
 put on trial for larceny, and convicted. His left 
 eye and cheek twitched prodigiously when he saw 
 that the principal witnesses against him were Damon 
 and Pythias. He did not laugh at them any more 
 now. 
 
 The boulder still lies in its new bed among the 
 woods and ledges where it fell. I have passed 
 
274 THE POCKET-KIFLE. 
 
 around it and retraced its wonderful course up the 
 mountain-side more than once in my summer tramps 
 among those hills. 
 
 The two friends still remain neighbors on their 
 adjoining farms. Mr. Atway, in his advancing years, 
 has given up the management of affairs mostly to 
 Chase. Mr. Lankton is dead, and the shiftless old 
 farm has become neat and thrifty in Worth's hands. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Boston Stereotype Foundry, No. 4 Pearl Street. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 NEIGHBOR JAOKWOOD. 
 
 Cloth. 417 pages. $1.50. 
 
 " Neighbor Jaokwood is noteworthy as being really the pioneer of novels 
 of real life in New England, just as " The Vagabonds " is the first specimen (and 
 one of the best) of what has come to be known as the Bret Harte school of poetry. 
 It sparkles with wit, it is liquid with humor, it has unmistakably the touch of na- 
 ture ; its dramatic flux, so to speak, is nearly perfect, and it has a procession of 
 characters like a novel of Scott. Indeed, in many ways it recalls that great mas- 
 ter. There is less description and more action in it than is habitual with Scott, 
 and the conception of some of its secondary characters, like the crazy-brained 
 Edward Longman, would shine in any page Scott ever wrote." — Scribner's 
 Monthly. 
 
 NEIGHBORS' WIVES. 
 
 Cloth. 318 pages. $1.50. 
 
 N ot in the least tiresome. — Troy Press. 
 
 E xquisite touches of character. — Salem Observer. 
 
 I ntroducing strong scenes with rare skill. — Gloucester Telegraph. 
 
 G roups well certain phases of character.— New Bedford Standard. 
 
 H appy sprightliness of style and vivacity which fascinates. — Dover Legion. 
 
 B y many considered the author's best. —Journal. 
 
 ne of the best of Trowbridge's stories. — Commonwealth. 
 R eader finds it difficult to close the book. — Hearth and Borne. 
 
 S tory all alive with adventures and incidents striking and vivid.— Dover Star. 
 
 W hich is one of Trowbridge's brightest and best. — Boston Transcript. 
 
 1 s destined to be enjoyed mightily. — Salem Observer. 
 V ery pleasant reading. — N. Y. Leader. 
 
 E xcels any of the author's former books.— Montana American. 
 S tory is in the author's best vein.— New Haven Register. 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 MARTIN MERRIVALE. 
 
 HIS X M-A-RIS. 
 
 Cloth. 558 pages. $1.50. 
 
 "This story of New England life abounds in passages of rare humor and pathos. 
 Not even in ' Coupon Bonds' nor in 'Neighbor Jackwood' has Trowbridge created 
 characters better fitted to give him enduring fame. No one can read the story 
 without seeing that the author has put his whole soul in it, even as Dickens did in 
 his ' David Copperfield.' On its last page he says, and evidently in all sincerity, 
 that he has written it, 'not for fame, still less for fortune, but all for love.' It 
 marks the great and constantly growing popularity of this successful novelist and 
 poet." — Portland Advertiser. 
 
 " Who ever heard of a man's stealing a meeting-house f " 
 
 COUPON BONDS, 
 
 AND OTHER POPULAR STORIES. 
 
 12mo. Cloth. 411 pages. $1.50. 
 
 " Coupon Bonds is undoubtedly one of the best short stories ever published 
 in this country. It is a most happy and felicitous stroke. It is brimful of the 
 very best quality of humor, the humor that grows naturally out of the character 
 and the situation, and it moves along briskly without any urging or pushing by 
 the author. It is full of incident, full of character, full of novel and ludicrous 
 surprises and situations ; and if it could be composed into a three-act comedy, 
 would be as irresistible in its way as Sheridan's Sclnool for Sccmdal." — Scribner's 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 FARNELL'S FOLLY. 
 
 Cloth. 469 pages. $1.50. 
 
 " All the sterling qualities which have placed Mr. Trowbridge among the 
 foremost of American novelists are to be found in the new romance from his pen. 
 It is not a short story or series of sketches, that may he 'devoured' in an hour, 
 but, as the number of its pages testify, a full-blooded romance, alive with inci- 
 dent and overflowing with interest, with all the variety of plot and counter-plot, 
 tragedy and comedy, which always fascinates the reader and prolongs the inter- 
 est. It is a novel with a character, and displays an unmistakable high tone in its 
 treatment of American habits, customs, crises, and panics. Its plot is not sensa- 
 tional, but often thrilling. An oil scheme sets the town of Waybrook wild, a fas- 
 cinating ' middle-aged ' adventuress creates havoe in a happy family ; a strange 
 woman works evil. There is a mill agitation by day, <t conflagration by night, 
 and a fearful snow-storm day and night, all of which are glowingly described ; 
 and an ever-varying panorama of moving incidents by flood and field. The char- 
 acters are presented in all the life-like prominence for which this author is noted, 
 particularly the whimsical, the eccentric, and the uncouth. It rivals Neighbor 
 Jacikwood and Coupon Bonds in the abundance of its humor. 
 
 cup jo's cayeT 
 
 Cloth. 504 pages. $1.50. 
 
 The scene of this story is laid in east Tennessee, a region hallowed by the noble 
 patriotism of its Union inhabitants, by their many wrongs, their cruel sufferings, 
 and their blood freely offered for their country. The characters introduced are 
 few and well portrayed, and are representative men from the North and South. 
 The story is spirited and graphically narrated, and carries the reader's sympathy 
 with it, while underlying the whole is the author's intense love of freedom and 
 hatred of slavery. It will rank with the best of the author's works. 
 
 " This is one of Mr. Trowbridge's best stories. His readers are accustomed 
 to plenty of lively incidents and exciting adventures, and in this volume tlie sup- 
 ply is surely abundant. The story opens with the struggle of a Quaker school- 
 master in Tennessee previous to the opening of the late war, and the exciting 
 scenes attendant upon the opening of the great struggle between the North and 
 South are portrayed in a graphic manner. Many of the chapters possess a thrill- 
 ing interest and recall vividly the stories of adventure that were current in war 
 times. Cudjo's Cave is a book to make a favorable impression." — Capital. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPABD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 THE DRUMMER BOY. 
 
 Cloth. 336 pages. $1.50. 
 
 " The author of this book is so famous as a good story-writer that another ex- 
 cellent one is only what all his readers expect, and the young folks will find in 
 the pages of this story enough to think about and act upon, until their attention 
 is called to another. It is a story of the late war, and of a boy who went into the 
 army as a drummer ; and who, from the good instructions of a fond and noble 
 mother, sought to impart to his rude and reckless companions some of the good 
 of his own character. But it cost him a great deal of annoyance from them, who 
 called him 'the preacher,' and made him the subject of their rude and merci- 
 less jokes. But in all these he comes out best, and soon wins the respect and love 
 of all his comrades. He does not go through the war as a drummer boy, but is 
 prompted, the story leaving him as second lieutenant with a fine prospect and 
 strong determination of reaching the highest military rank. The book is suita- 
 bly illustrated. The narrative is based on fact, which is always better than 
 fiction." — San Jose Mtrcwry. 
 
 THE THREE SCOUTS. 
 
 Cloth. 384 pages. $1.50. 
 
 "This story is a companion to 'Cudjo's Cave* and 'The Drummer Boy,' in 
 being a narrative of stormy events in the * late unpleasantness,' when the army 
 of the Cumberland, under Bosecrans, and the Confederate forces, under Bragg, 
 were battling each other in 1862, although complete in itself as a story. The 
 heroes are daring fellows, now boldly marching through the enemy's country, 
 breaking into jails to release their comrades, fighting guerrillas at odds, and 
 generally in a state of lively activity in the Union cause. Enos Crumlett, of 
 'Neighbor Jackwood' fame, turns up again *as a Union man with southern 
 principles,' or as a ' Union man from the start,* just whichever end suits him best, 
 ' where there 's a chance for a speculation.' Carl, the German, is a capital char- 
 acter. The book is intensely interesting. It is not a flashy novel to be read and 
 thrown aside, but a historical work of lasting interest, with all the vivacity 
 of dialogue in its humorous scenes, all the depth of feeling in its serious 
 narrative, for which the author is noted." 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPABD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 
 
 Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 "The author of the 'Vagabonds' is incapable of writing a poor book. The 
 volume is made up of a dozen or more capital stories. The first, Young Joe, 
 relates the hunting exploits of a fat candy-maker and his companion, Joe, a 
 green country boy. It is full of good laughs for the reader, whether he be old 
 or young. The rest of the stories abound in exciting incidents and interesting 
 history. They will enchain the attention of young readers, and each teaches a 
 broad and healthful humanity." 
 
 "The first and longest story in the book is an exceedingly entertaining one, 
 of how Young Joe, who lived at Bass Cove, went up to town to sell some wild 
 ducks, which he himself had shot, and old Joe, his father, had permitted him to 
 take to market. It was a proud period in the life of Young Joe. A portly, 
 jaunty gentleman came up and looked at the ducks with surprise and interest, 
 made some inquiries, and when Joe told him be shot them all, he exclaims, ' Bless 
 my heart! if I ain't surprised!* He owned a double-barrelled fowling piece, 
 and regarded himself as a tine shot ; and when Joe invited him to come down to 
 Bass Cove and go out shooting with bim, the gentleman thankfully accepted the 
 invitation. When he came, dressed in an immaculate shooting suit, the story of 
 how Joe ' took the starch out of bim,* while they were tramping for game, will 
 highly amuse the boys. There are thirteen other stories in this book, all of 
 Which the young folks will be sure to be pleased with." —.Home Journal. 
 
 "The Commercial reviewer happened to open this book in the middle, at 
 * The One-eyed Hostler's Story,* and began to read it without looking at the title- 
 page. He finished that story, and was presently so interested in 'Andy's Adven- 
 tures,* that he still could n't take time to look for the name of the author. 
 When he had read that charming tale, he said to himself, ' What an incomparable 
 writer for young folks this is ! Who is he?' Turning then to the title page for 
 the first time, who was this delightful author for children but J. T. Tbowbridgk 
 himself, to be sure ! No wonder those stories were so fascinating." — Cincinnati 
 Commercial. 
 
 "A capital book in all respects, overflowing with all sorts of fun and adven- 
 ture ; just the sort of book, in short, that the young folks will be anxious to read 
 and re-read with as much continuous interest as the most favored of their story- 
 hooks." — Philadelphia Leader. 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J; T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 BOUND IN HONOR; 
 
 OB, 
 
 A HARVEST OF WILD OATS. 
 
 Cloth, Illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 " The hero of this story was a member of a gang of young rogues in a New 
 
 England village, which gang was simply a representative of village gangs that 
 bave existed all over the land for a hundred years and more. Roy was not a 
 vicious boy, and he was very smart, excelling in whatever youthful sports lie un- 
 dertook ; but he did not put his talents to a good purpose, nor did he stick to any 
 one thing long. Some of the more vicious of his companions had planned to set 
 fire to an old barn for the purpose of calling out the engine and 'having some 
 fun.* Roy, who had been out to spsnd the evening on the night selected for the 
 fire, was passing the hiding place of the boys, when they called to him and told 
 him what their purpose was. He was opposed to the act, and had nothing to do 
 with it ; but felt in honor bound not to betray them. The fire caused great 
 excitement, and the authorities were determined to find out the incendiaries. 
 Roy ascertained that he was to be arretted with others, and although he had 
 nothing to do with the fire, he was determined that he would not testify 
 against the culprits; so he escaped from the house of his uncle in the night; 
 and the rapid adventures that followed are exciting, and will keep the reader 
 in the liveliest interest to the end. Roy's thrilling adventure on the ice when 
 he saves the life of the son of Judge Dilworthy may seem incredible in some 
 particulars ; but it will add to the interest of this for the reader, to know 
 that the author of the story, Mr. Trowbridge, saved the life of a boy in 
 just that way on the Mystic Pond a few winters ago ; and that is why he can 
 describe the event wbich he has put into his story with such vivid power. 
 Roy is naturally a noble-hearted boy, but he had the mistaken notion which is so 
 prevalent with boys, that he was bound in honor not to make known any of the 
 rascalities of his mates. His severe experience taught him a better lesson, and 
 he conies out all right." — Boston Home Journal. 
 
 " The glimpses we get of New England character are free from any distor- 
 tion, and the delineation of their humorous phases is always very entertaining. 
 Mr. Trowbridge's undoubtedly brilliant descriptive faculty is shown to great 
 advantage in the opening chapter of this book by a vivid picture of a village fire, 
 and is manifested elsewhere with equally telling effect." — Boston Courier. 
 
 " This is a charming story. It is of a lad who though not guilty of an act 
 performed by other bad boys, was an eye-witness and felt ' hound in honor ' not 
 to tell. It is full of good things, and has the unmistakable ring of the right in its 
 teachings. It is a boy's book." 
 
 # 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 THE POCKET RIFLE. 
 
 Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 " Few books will delight the youthful readers more than this latest of that ad- 
 mirable story-teller, J. T. Trowbridge. His books are always free from those 
 pernicious influences derived from so many of boys' books and papers, and are not 
 a whit less interesting. 
 
 " The pocket rifle was given as a scholarship prize, and the plot of the story 
 hinges upon its mysterious disappearance and discovery. It introduces bright 
 school-life scenes, stirring adventures occasioned by a spring flood, a family feud, 
 caused by the loss of the rifle, and its settlement, which is the one happy result of 
 the flood. The volume is the fifth, and one of the best of the ' Silver Medal 
 Series,' is well illustrated, and contains not a dull page." — Commercial Bulletin, 
 
 " Mr. Trowbridge is one of the most satisfactory of the writers of juveniles. 
 His stories are healthful, natural, and interesting. From the appearance of the 
 Brighthope series until the present, he has brought out a series of books, mostly 
 for boys, which do not contain a single objectionable word or line. The Pocket 
 Rifle is no exception to the general run of Trowbridge's stories. It is a 
 simple story, showing that rivalry will destroy the strongest friendships." — Chicago 
 Alliance. 
 
 " Mr. J. T. Trowbridge renews his acquaintance this year with his world of 
 admiring young readers by the Pocket Rifle, a boy's story which will be read 
 with avidity, as it ought to be, it is so brightly and frankly written, and with such 
 evident knowledge of the temperaments and habits, the friendships and enmities , 
 of schoolboys. It is a little novel, with two heroes, who are skilfully drawn 
 against a background of New England country landscape. The Pocket Rifle 
 is just the book, metaphorically speaking, to teach the young idea how to shoot." 
 
 — New York Af ail. 
 
 " This is a capital story for boys. Trowbridge never tells a story poorly. 
 This teaches honesty, integrity, and friendship, and how best they can be pro- 
 moted. It shows the danger of hasty judgment and circumstantial evidence ; 
 that right-doing pays, and dishonesty never." — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 
 
 " The title of this story for boys suggests warfare and bloodshed, and possibly 
 romantic adventures among pirates or Indians. The book Itself does not, how- 
 ever, confirm in the least that antecedent suspicion. It is a description of school- 
 days. The pocket rifle shoots nobody. It serves as a prize which a foolish 
 teacher offered for the best spelling. As a prize, rather than as a rifle, it becomes 
 the occasion of jealousy and trouble, which culminated in a trial of the un- 
 successful contestant under the charge of stealing. He was, nevertheless, inno- 
 cent, which is at last made evident to the world, as it was all along to the reader." 
 
 — Churchman. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 THE JOLLY ROVER. 
 
 Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 " The Jolly Rover ought to be welcomed with delight by parents and young 
 people as well, for, however interesting this popular author may seek to make 
 himself, he never loses sight of the idea that fiction is never wholesome except 
 when it tends to elevate the mind and to purify the sentiments of youth. As a 
 story-teller he stands foremost among American writers for the young. His 
 motives and teachings are always on the side of morality, but his heroes are 
 never goody-goody or prodigies in their way. In this book he aims to portray the 
 false ideas and misconduct that are promoted in youth by the reading of the 
 pernicious literature of our time. His hero is a boy, well-born and carefully 
 reared, who has a notion that he must see the world and do something heroic ; 
 indeed he aims to become a sort of ' Dime Novel ' hero, and with this intention 
 runs away from home. His adventures away from home are wonderfully varied 
 and exciting, full of intense interest, and just thrilling enough to whet the reader's 
 curiosity." The lesson is wholesome, for no one would care to follow The Jolly 
 Rover's example. There is not a dull page in the volume. A number of illus- 
 trations lend attraction to the story. The ' nub ' of the story is contained in the 
 following extract : — 
 
 "'lam afraid,' said Mr. Wing, 'that we — that I— have been to blame for the 
 kind of reading he [the son] has had so much of. I had a feeling that it wasn't 
 healthy for him; yet I never took the trouble to examine it carefully, or to 
 provide something better in its place.' " — Our Home. 
 
 " The hero of this highly interesting book is a wide-awake, inquisitive and 
 knowing fellow, who, through the teachings of dime novels, — in which the 
 tomahawk and black flag are conspicuous symbols, — is fired with a desire to 
 exterminate the red men of the West, and so runs away from home. That he 
 finds plenty of adventure, without the happiness he so much anticipated, anyone 
 who follows him through thirty-eight chapters of the most interesting reading 
 ever placed in the hands of young people, will be convinced." — Gospel Ilcmner. 
 
 "Fathers cannot always prevent the reading of poor newspapers by their 
 growing boys ; but they are bound to try, if they are worthy a father's name. 
 This book will help them amazingly to neutralize the ill effects of any poison 
 their children may have already swallowed, in the way of sham-adventurous 
 stories and wildly fictitious tales. The Jolly Rover runs from home and meets 
 life as it is, till he is glad enough to seek again his father's house. Mr. Trow- 
 bridge has the power of making an instructive story absorbing in its interest, 
 and of covering a moral so that it is easy to take." — Christian Intelligencer. 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPABD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 THE LITTLE MASTER, 
 
 Cloth. 230 pages. $1.25. 
 
 "Mr. Trowbridge's stories are perhaps most popular with young people, but 
 older people, and teachers especially, will be interested in this little book. It will 
 recall to many the early days of their experience as a teacher; and the hero, Chauncey 
 Mayhew, will be sure to obtain their sympathy, as much as his trials and victories 
 will excite their interest. The story begins with a disappointment for the young 
 teacher. This is nothing new in the experience of a teacher; in fact, it belongs to 
 the natural order of events, for a teacher, no matter how successful, must certainly 
 start out with disappointments. Id the present case, Chauncey Mayhew's disappoint- 
 ment is speedily followed by encouragement. He has the fortune to make an im- 
 pression upon the son (and a very self-willed son, too) of the chairman of the school 
 committee. The chairman is virtually the whole committee, and through the in- 
 fluence of the son, Chauncey receives the appointment to ' keep school ' in the Mount 
 Dustan district. His experiences in this district, with both the scholars and the 
 committee, form the ' meat ' of twenty-five chapters of the book. He resigned : why, 
 is told in the last chapter. There are several illustrations scattered throughout the 
 book, which picture the most telling incidents in the story. It is needless to say the 
 story is well told ; that is presumed as a matter of course, for all of Mr. Trow- 
 bridge's stories have been well told. This story has appeared in one of the Boston 
 periodicals, and bad a large circulation ; which fact, outside of its author's name, 
 will tend to make it popular." — School Journal. 
 
 " The more stories Mr. Trowbridge can write, the better for the boys of this 
 generation. Flooded as our country is with literature of a dime-novel order, we have 
 need of just such safe and interesting books as The Little Master, ' Phil and His 
 Friends,' ' Bound in Honor,* etc., to put into the hands of our growing boys." — 
 Living Church. 
 
 "No more need be Baid than that Mr. Trowbridge has written a book for the 
 boys, that has all the art and fascination of his other boys' books, with as much 
 genuine philosophy of life. This author's success lies largly in his power to write 
 with a purpose, but without the objectionable moral. The success of the little school- 
 master has many a good point by which boys will profit, while they read with 
 interest. Many a teacher could profit by reading of this plucky little schoolmaster." 
 — Journal of Education. 
 
 BOSTON; LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 " No better or more pleasing writer for young folks than Mr. Trowbridge 
 can be found. He draws bis characters true to life, concealing no faults, and 
 . exaggerating no virtues, but paints eacb in their own lights and shadows so 
 vividly that to avoid the one and imitate the other must be the natural impulse 
 of all boys and girls who read his most excellent and fascinating stories. PHIL 
 and His Friends is particularly good. It is spirited and full of lively incidents, 
 the interest never flagging, but rather increasing from the first. The hero is the 
 unfortunate son of a man, who, like many other persons, drank, and had the 
 faculty of getting in debt, without the honor or manliness to get out, as he ran 
 away and left it when the crisis came. The shame and humiliation of such a 
 course of life, together with constant trouble it imposed, killed Phil's mother, 
 whose noble nature he fully inherited. The opening of the story finds father 
 and son at a country hotel, owned by one Solomon Bass, to whom he is indebted 
 for board, horses, drink, etc., $100, besides owing smaller sums to other business 
 men of the town. One day an altercation occurred between Mr. Farlow, the 
 debtor, and Sol Bass, about the payment of the bill, which ended in Bass receiving 
 a written agreement that he should keep his son Phil until he should be able to 
 send the $100. Before poor Phil awoke next morning his father had decamped, 
 leaving him as hostage to work out the debt. He very naturally resented such 
 outrageous treatment, and left the hated place, hoping to find a home for him 
 self where he could work and be respected; but Sallie Bass, the village hoiden, 
 goes in pursuit, finds him in the woods and persuades him to return, which he 
 does reluctantly, and stays a year, more than cancelling his father's debt. Bass, 
 however, still claims him and refuses any pay for further services, so Phil leaves 
 for good, and finds a friend and defender in the village doctor, and through him 
 many others. Sallie Bass is quite a figure in the story, her freaks and pranks 
 forming an indispensable feature of the book. The above are only a few inci - 
 dents of the story, but space forbids further notice." — San Josi Mercury. 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 HIS OWN MASTER. 
 
 Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 " We class this as one of the very best stories for boys that we ever read. The 
 tone is perfectly healthy, ami the interest is kept up to the end. Jacob Fortune 
 was left without any protector, by the death of his aunt, when fifteen years of 
 age — his father and mother having long been dead. While standing by the old. 
 home brooding over his loneliness, he is accosted by an airy young man of whom 
 he had taken some dancing lessons the year previous ; and this self-styled Pro- 
 fessor Alphonse Pinkney draws from the boy the story of his forlorn condition, 
 and the fact that he has in Cincinnati an uncle that he designs to seek out. The 
 dashing Alphonse, himself only twenty years old, at once induces him to sell off 
 the little stock left him, and start with him to find his uncle. They start down 
 the Ohio on a steamer, the little Jeremy Diddler of a dancing master taking care 
 of the money. He soon deserts Jacob under very aggravating circumstances, 
 leaving the poor boy penniless, and his further adventures are graphically re- 
 lated. He is a truthful, noble little fellow, and his good face makes him friends 
 in times of dire need." — Boston Home Journal. 
 
 " This is a book after the typical boy's own heart. Its hero is a plucky young 
 fellow, who, seeing no chance for himself at home, determines to make his own 
 way in the world as best he can without being beholden to anyone. He sets out 
 accordingly, trudges to the Far West, and finds the road to fortune an unpleas- 
 antly rough one. The story of his strange and manifold adventures will be found 
 by every juvenile vastly entertaining. It is full of fun and sensation, while the 
 atmosphere of the book is so perfectly healthy that parents can put His Own 
 Master into their children's hands with the utmost confidence. Mr. Trow- 
 bridge has the happy faculty of being amusing and moral at the same time." — 
 Phila. Inquirer. 
 
 "From its opening chapter, the story is light, racy, and humorous, and 'during 
 the hero's travels the author contrives to introduce to his readers descriptions 
 of steamboat life, life on the road as a tramp, and- character sketches thoroughly 
 American, and invariably drawn true to nature. The book is healthy in its tone, 
 does not contain a line of effeminate sentimentality, and teaches the youth of 
 our country that self-control and honest industrious effort, no matter how hum- 
 ble or slow, always forms the surest road whereby happiness is obtained. The 
 book is a good one for any season." — Independent, Mount Vernon. 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPAED, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 HIS ONE FAULT. 
 
 Cloth. 275 pages. $1.25. 
 
 "The attractive qualities which have given Mr. Trowbridge such a high rank as 
 a story-teller are well exhibited in this hie latest novel. It is a tale of New-England 
 life on the farm, which the author knows so well how to portray. The plot of the 
 story, if it can be said to have one, we shall leave our young readers to learn from 
 the book. They will find out from it how Kit came to steal a horse when he thought 
 he was reclaiming one, how he got knocked senseless as a fruit-thief when he was 
 trying to save grapes from being stolen, and other ad ventures which happened to him 
 on account of hiB * one fault.* " — Turlington Free Press. 
 
 " If every boy could read this book, or have it read to him, there would be fewer 
 rogues in the world. A straightforward, honest story, without cant, without moral- 
 izing, full of genuine fun and hard common sense, it is just the tale that is needed to 
 make a young fellow fall in love with simple integrity and fair dealing. As for Kit, 
 the heroe of the story, ' his one fault ' was absent-mindedness. He forgot to lock his 
 uncle's stable door, and the horse was stolen. In seeking to recover the stolen horse, 
 he unintentionally stole another. In trying to restore the wrong horse to his rightful 
 owner, he was himself arrested. After no end of comical and dolorous adventures, 
 he surmounted all his misfortunes by downright pluck and genuine good feeling. It 
 is a noble contribution to juvenile literature."— Woman's Journal. 
 
 "Young people always find in Mr. Trowbridge's stories an element which irresist- 
 ibly attracts them, especially as he tells of things which often happen in boy and girl 
 life, and makes all his accounts charmingly natural. His One Fault will he found 
 one of his most fascinating stories, and of benefit to its readers, having a wholesome 
 moral so plainly set forth in every chapter, that the dullest boy will be impressed 
 with the importance of correcting 'his one fault,' should he be afflicted with the 
 weakness which caused the chief subject iu this entertaining book so much real 
 trouble." — Hoston Times. 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SBEPABD, PUBLISHERS 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 THE VAGABONDS. 
 
 Cloth. Illustrated. Full Gilt, $1.50. 
 
 " We always like to see old friends in improved circumstances, and Trow- 
 bridge's Vagabonds is a great favorite with the reading public and the public 
 readers. It is as much an indispensable of a reader's repertoire as Poe's ' Kaven ' 
 or ' King Robert of Sicily,' and its deep pathetic quality, the powerful picture 
 of despair that it presents, which the gauzy veil of grim humor brings into much 
 stronger light than it would possess without it, takes hold of the emotions and 
 tends to give a man pause in reckless courses if he is inclined to them, and warns 
 him away from the threshold if he has not yet entered upon them. The Vaga- 
 bonds appears in holiday attire. Mr. Darley has drawn with effective realism 
 * Koger and I,' and the ragged and wan companions arouse the sentiment of pity 
 as much in the picture as they do in the poem. This is in all respects the finest 
 edition of the work that we have ever seen, a* our readers will readily believe, 
 when we assure them that it takes rank with the best of Lee & Shepard's holiday 
 work." — Boston Post. 
 
 " The publishers made a happy choice in selecting this exceedingly popular 
 poem for illustration as a holiday book, uniform with their editions of ' The 
 breaking waves dashed high,' 'O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?' 
 ' Nearer, my God, to Thee,' etc. The Vagabonds has taken its place among 
 the imperishable poems, and thousands with whom it is a favorite will eagerly 
 welcome this splendid combination of the arts of poetry, illustration, and 
 book-making. Darley, in his portrayal of Trowbridge's pen-pictures, has 
 graphically caught the spirit of the poem. With what vividness may a life- 
 history be read— and what lessons maybe gleaned by the thoughtful— in making 
 a mental bridge between the lovely picture which illustrates — 
 ' If you had seen her,, so fair and young, 
 Whose head was happy on this breast ! ' 
 and the picture— 
 
 ' I have seen her ? Once : I was weak and spent 
 
 On the dusty road : a carriage stopped : 
 
 But little she dreamed, as on she went, 
 
 Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped.' " 
 
 — Borne Journal. 
 
 " This real gem of a poem comes to us in a setting of equal richness and worth. 
 
 The Vagabonds not only is a poem, but a story wherein the real humor and 
 
 pathos of life are most skilfully and truthfully blended. It is needless to descant 
 
 at length upon the merits of the poem, or the high moral lesson it conveys, but 
 
 the elegant form in which it is now presented to the public justly deserves some 
 
 mention. It is a handsome, gold-edged volume, in highly ornamental cloth 
 
 binding; and on the heaviest pure eream-paper its clear print sparkles in vivid 
 
 beauty, and its illustrations are the very happiest conceptions of artistic skill." — 
 
 Indianapolis Journal. 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPAED, PUBLISHEBB. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 THE SILVER MEDAL. 
 
 Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 Imagine, if you can, four schoolboys as young housebreakers examining the 
 plunder, " four bagsfull," and finding a silver medal, of which the above is a 
 fae-simile. Imagine one of the youthful robbers to be the Benton Barry whose 
 name is engraved on that medal, and you have the opening situation in a story 
 that is intensely interesting in its serious as well as its humoroas chapters. Mr. 
 Trowbridge also gives in this volume a few shorter stories that are among his 
 brightest and best contributions. They are 
 
 The Toddlebys on a Train. 
 
 The Leather Spectacles. 
 
 A Boy's Adventure at Niagara Falls. 
 A Storm on the Prairies. 
 The Load of Wood. 
 
 The Goose-Race. 
 
 The Widow's Gold. 
 
 Boys in the City. 
 
 "Mr. Trowbridge's books are always entertaining, sensible, and vigorous." 
 •— Woman's Journal. 
 
 * 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
j. i. ihuwdkiuGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 THE TINKHAM BROTHERS' TIDE-MILJi. 
 
 Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 " It is a lamentable truth that boys mil quarrel among themselves, and 
 that the class-room, the 'Street, and the playground are but so many different 
 battle-fields to many of them : and it is also to be regretted that they like to read 
 about the fighting of other boys, but they do, and The Tinkham Brothers' 
 Tide-Mill, which is but one-long quarrel, will be much more to their taste than 
 if it were the biography of some nice little Laodiceans, who never had a disagree- 
 ment with anybody. The author, Mr. Trowbridge, has made his pugnacious 
 heroes very clever and manly, and it will not hurt a boy to sympathize with them 
 heartily. There is honest fun as well as hearty fighting in the little story, and 
 girls will enjoy it almost as much as boys, and sympathize with the Tinkhams as 
 thoroughly as the little heroine of the book." — Budget. 
 
 " Here, as ever, the author throws his influence on the side of right, and the 
 book will prove pleasant and profitable reading for the young. Five brothers 
 have a mother and sister to support. While quite young they attempt the man- 
 ufacture of doll-carriages, and succeed. Although working under all sorts of 
 disadvantages, they make money enough to buy a piece of property known as 
 the tide-mill; but in so doing find that they have bought a quarrel with all their 
 neighbors and a' boat club and two towns about the water privilege. This dis- 
 pleasure of the people had been greatly aggravated by the meanness of the former 
 owner, and it was only after years of trial that they were able to carry on their 
 work in peace. But meantime they had made money, and were at length able to 
 buy better property nearer a market for their wares, and pursue their calling 
 comfortably. The treatment of the invalid mother, as manifested throughout 
 the book, is a "beautiful feature of it." — Burlington Hawkeye. 
 
 " The Tinkham Brothers are the devoted sons of an invalid mother. The 
 story tells how they purchased a ' Tide-Mill ' which afterwards, by the ill-will 
 and obstinacy of neighbors, became a source of much trouble to them. It tells 
 also how, by discretion and the exercise of a peaceable spirit, they at last over- 
 come all difficulties. It is a well-written and pleasing book for boys, and bears 
 upon one of the most important lessons of life, that of learning how to get along 
 peaceably with troublesome neighbors under difficult circumstances. If it shall 
 teach some young friend this lesson, it will repay its cost many times over." — 
 Christian Observer, Louisville, Ky. 
 
 " Mr. Trowbridge's humor, his fidelity to nature and story-telling power 
 lose nothing with years, and he stands at the head of those who are furnishing a 
 literature for the young, clean and sweet in tone, and always of interest and 
 value." — The Continent. 
 
 " This is one of Mr. Trowbridge's entertaining stories for the young, and 
 is written in the popular style which of late the author has adopted. The story 
 has just enough of romance blended with the narrative to make it popular with 
 the readers."— Journal of Education. 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHJSPABD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE'S BOOKS. 
 
 THE SATIN-WOOD BOX. 
 
 Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. 
 
 " The Satin-Wood Box " is a story for juvenile readers which bears the name of 
 J. T. Trowbridge as its author. This is sufficient guarantee to parents, who are 
 in search of wholesome but entertaining literature for their sons and daughters, 
 of the high character of the book. Mr. Trowbridge always has a purpose in his 
 Writings, and this time he has undertaken to show how very near an innocent boy 
 can come to the guilty edge, and yet be able, by fortunate circumstances, to rid 
 himself of all suspicion of evil. There is something very winsome about Gilford 
 Norcroft, the hero ; but he has a singular way of falling into bad luck, although 
 the careful reader will never feel the least disposed to doubt his honesty. The 
 story is exceedingly profitable, although painful at times. But it is just the pain 
 and the perplexity which impart to the story its intense interest, and will make it a 
 useful story to boys who wish incentives to courage. It is issued as one of the 
 volumes of the Tide-Mill Series, of which "Phil and his Friends," and "Tinkham 
 Brothers' Tide-Mill," by the same author, have already found thousands of read- 
 ers. There are several illustrations in the book, which help to explain the situa- 
 tion. — Syracuse Standard, 
 
 Almost as much could justly be said in favor of this book as we said of Mr. 
 Trowbridge's story two years ago, " The Tinkham Brothers' Tide-Mill." It is a 
 volume in the same series and its purpose is in the same line, the inculcation of 
 high moral ideas. "While Mr. Trowbridge is not exactly a lay preacher, he certainly 
 is a teacher of morality. The " Tide-Mill " story illustrates the power and the 
 dignity of steady perseverance, pluck and courage. The story of "The Satin- 
 Wood Box " (the very title tells the tale) shows how an honest boy may and did 
 come very near to the brink of crime through giving his companions too large a 
 hold upon his conscience. The story is exciting but not unhealthily so, and it keeps 
 the reader's sympathy right along on the side of innocence assailed. While it is 
 a boys' book, there is no lack of interest in it for girls. — Christian, Advocate. 
 
 Mr. J. T. Trowbridge's new story. The Satin-Wood Box, is the third of the "Tide- 
 Mill Series," and tells an interesting and exciting story in that spirited and real- 
 istic style for which its prolific author is justly celebrated. The plot is strong, and 
 is marked by vigorous dramatic force ; the characters are vividly sketched, and 
 the book is certain to delight the young readers for whose entertainment and in- 
 struction it was written.— Boston Gazette. 
 
 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPABD, PUBLISHERS. 
 
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