"What is it, Oscar?" said Mrs. Preston, while an expression of anxiety settled on her pale face. "Oscar, what has happened?"
"Nothing much, mother," replied the boy. "I am discharged. That's all. Is dinner ready?"
"O Oscar!" exclaimed his mother.
"It's a fact. Mr. Smith wants to bring down his expenses, and, as I was the youngest clerk, of course I had to go."
He said nothing about the grocer's refusal to give him the letter of recommendation for which he had applied. That was his own trouble, and he would not burden his mother with it.
"Don't look so sober. We have funds enough in the bank to support us for a few months, and there are fifteen dollars more,"he added, handing out the money he had received from Mr. Smith.
"But you know we were saving that to make the first payment on the mortgage," said Mrs. Preston anxiously.
"Yes, I know; and perhaps we will use it for that purpose yet. I shall start out as soon as I get something to eat, and hunt up a situation. Is dinner ready? I have brought home a good appetite."
And Oscar thought he had. But when he found himself seated at the table in the cosey little dining room, with a substantial and well-cooked dinner before him, he discovered that he did not want anything to eat.
He forced down a few mouthfuls, then put on his overcoat, kissed his mother good-by, and went out.
But where should he go? That was the question. There were but three grocery stores in town, and he knew that they were supplied with all the clerks they needed. If the truth must be told, he did not expect to obtain another situation.
But it would never do, he told himself, togive up without making an effort; and, besides, he felt much better while he was stirring about in the open air than he would have felt if he had remained at home and mourned over his hard luck.
When he reached Main Street, he could not muster up courage enough to enter a single one of the stores at which he had determined to apply for work. Who would hire a boy that had been refused a letter of recommendation by his last employer?
While he was turning this question over in his mind, someone called out:
"Hallo, there! You're just the boy I want to see. Come in here."
Oscar turned, and found that he had been hailed by Mr. Jackson, the village druggist—a fat, jolly man, who seemed to carry an atmosphere of cheerfulness with him wherever he went.
He gave the boy's hand a tremendous grip and shake, after which he led him through the store into the office, pushed him into a chair, and seated himself in another.
"Well, Oscar," said he, "I haven't seenyou for a long time. How does the world use you?"
"The world uses me well enough," replied Oscar; "but some of the people in it might treat me a little better if they were so inclined."
"Yes; there are a good many people about us who seem to be of no earthly use here except to get themselves and others into trouble," said the druggist; "and when we meet any of them, the best thing we can do is to attend to our own business and pay no attention to them."
"But what shall a fellow do when he has no business of his own to attend to?" asked Oscar.
Mr. Jackson laughed so loudly and heartily that the boy was obliged to laugh, too.
"I know what you mean by that," said the former. "I heard this morning that Mr. Smith had discharged you, and if I were in your place, I should be glad of it. I guess he didn't pay you much."
"No, sir; but the little he did pay me was very acceptable. In fact, I don't see how Ican get on without it. I must find another situation to-day, if it is a possible thing."
"Well, you might as well give up the idea, for it isn't possible," answered the druggist. "I'll warrant that Smith has had half a dozen applications for your place already. Now, while you are waiting for something to turn up, why can't you do a little job of work for me? I want a case of birds, to put in my dining room—something like the one you sold Parker, only different, you know; that is, different birds and different groupings—if that's the way to express it."
Oscar straightened up in his chair at once. It was astonishing what a change these few words made in his feelings.
"I believe Parker paid you forty dollars for that case of his, didn't he?" continued the druggist. "Well, I'm willing to pay the same price for one equally as good. How long will it take you to put it up for me?"
"About a week. I have all the birds I need; they are a fine lot, too, if I do say it myself—but I must make the case, you know."
"All right! Go to work as soon as youplease. When it is finished, take it to my house—Mrs. Jackson will show you where to put it—and come here for your money. Remember, now, that I want nothing but game-birds. I don't care for snow-birds and canaries, like those you put in Parker's case."
"They were not canaries," said Oscar, who could hardly help smiling at the jolly man's ignorance of natural history. "They were gold finches—the little fellows you sometimes see picking the seeds out of thistles."
"Oh!" said Mr. Jackson. "Well, I don't want any of 'em. I want nothing but game-birds."
"I am sorry to say that I can't fill the order that way," replied Oscar. "The bottom of the case won't hold all the birds I intend to give you."
"You needn't put them all on the bottom. Stand them up in a tree, the way you did Parker's. The wood cock, snipe, and plover are small birds, and they could go up there as well as not."
It was now Oscar's turn to laugh.
"I can put a grouse in the tree," said he; "but who ever heard of a snipe or wood-cock in such a situation? Those birds are not perchers or climbers; they are waders, and live wholly on the ground."
"Oh! ah!" said Mr. Jackson, settling back in his chair with an air which said that Oscar had not made matters much clearer to him by his explanation. "But I'll tell you what's a fact," he added, straightening up again as a bright idea struck him—"I know I have seen quails in trees."
"So have I; but it was only when they were pursued by some animal, such as a dog or fox. If I should put any quails in your tree I'd have to account for their presence there by putting a fox on the bottom of the case, and he would take up too much room."
"Well, Oscar," said the druggist, after thinking a moment, "I guess you understand your business better than I do. Fix up the case to suit yourself, and I shall be satisfied."
Just then the front door opened, and a couple of ladies came in. Mr. Jackson hurried out to wait upon them, while Oscar, whowas in a great hurry to earn those forty dollars, buttoned his overcoat and left the store.
His face was fairly radiant with joy, and so completely was he wrapped up in his own thoughts that he did not see the gentleman who, after trying in vain to avoid a collision with him, finally seized him by the arm and held him fast.
"Why, Oscar, I thought it was you!" exclaimed the gentleman. "How do you do? By the way," he added, without giving the boy a chance to reply, "have you any more of those horned owls that you stuffed last winter?"
"No, sir; they are all sold," answered Oscar.
"What did you get apiece for them?"
"Three dollars."
"Well, now, I want one of them to put into a little niche at the head of my stairway," continued the gentleman. "If you will shoot one for me, and mount it, I'll give you three dollars for it."
"I am afraid I can't do it, Mr. Shaw.They are very scarce; and those I shot last winter I found by accident."
"Then get up a little earlier in the morning and hunt a little later at night, and I'll give you five dollars. If you succeed, bring the bird around, and your money is ready."
"I'll do my best. Now I'll just tell you what's the truth," said Oscar to himself, as he pulled his collar up around his ears, and once more turned his face toward home. "I've got some friends yet. I can make the first payment on that mortgage, interest and all, and have a little money left to keep us in fuel and provisions until I can earn more. Two orders in one day! They came in just at the right time, too. I haven't had a chance to sell a bird before for six months."
Oscar did not know that the orders he had just received had been obtained for him that morning through the influence of Mr. Parker.
If he had known it, he would have lost no time in hunting up his benefactor and thanking him for the interest he took in his welfare.
But attributing his unexpected stroke of fortune to his good luck, which he believedhad not yet wholly deserted him, he walked homeward with a light heart; and the smile he carried into his mother's presence was instantly reflected from her own face.
"Yes, I have found work," said he, in reply to her inquiring look. "I've a chance to make as much money in a week as I could have made in the store in two months. Mr. Jackson wants a case of birds something like the one I sold Mr. Parker, and Mr. Shaw wants a horned owl. I am not certain that I shall be able to fill the last order, for an owl is a bird you can't find every day; but I shall do my best, for a five-dollar bill is worth trying for."
Oscar ran upstairs to his room, and when he came down again he was dressed for work.
Taking a bunch of keys from a nail in the kitchen, he hurried through the wood-shed and paused in front of the door leading into his workshop.
As he inserted one of the keys into the lock, a loud bay of welcome arose from the inside, and when he opened the door, Bugle, the finest fox-hound that had ever been seen aboutEaton, crawled out from his warm bed under the work-bench, and after lazily stretching himself, jumped up and placed his forepaws on his master's shoulders.
Bugle was a well-trained hunting-dog, and so fond was he of following his favorite game that his master was obliged to lock him up in the shop every morning.
The hound would stay about the house in perfect contentment so long as Oscar was there; but when the latter went to school or to the store, Bugle would soon grow lonely, and then he would hunt the town over to find someone with a gun on his shoulder.
If he succeeded in his object, he would stick close to that man's side, and if the man went to the woods, Bugle would go also, and run foxes for him with as much zeal and perseverance as he exhibited in working for his master.
If he could not find anyone who was going hunting, he would start out alone, and sometimes he would be gone two or three days.
He could not hunt foxes to any advantage by himself, for there was need for someone tostand on the runways and shoot the game as it passed; but sometimes he succeeded in digging a hare out of a rotten log in which it had taken refuge, and he always brought the game home to show that his day's work had not been thrown away.
Oscar did not like this roving disposition on the part of his favorite, and, as two or three attempts had been made to steal the hound, he thought it best to keep him under lock and key.
Oscar's work-shop was a clean, well-lighted apartment, and in it the boy had spent many a stormy Saturday while he was a student at the high school; but since he had been employed in the store, he had done but little work there, for his time was fully occupied from seven in the morning until nine and sometimes ten o'clock at night.
He was glad to find himself there once more, for he felt as if he were among friends from whom he had long been separated.
The side of the room opposite the door was occupied by a carpenter's bench, on which were several specimens of Oscar's handiwork,such as jointed bass-rods, models of yachts (both sloop- and schooner-rigged), and also a neat little centre-table, which needed only the staining and polishing to make it ready to take its place in his mother's sitting room.
At the lower end of the bench was a curtain, reaching from the ceiling to the floor. Oscar drew aside this curtain, revealing a little recess about ten feet square, two sides of which were fitted up with shelves. At the end opposite the curtain was a wide window, and under it was a table filled with little boxes, containing glass eyes and an assortment of tools such as taxidermists use. The shelves were filled with stuffed birds and animals.
The most prominent object in the collection was a magnificent gray eagle, which leaned forward on his perch, with his wings half raised, his neck stretched out, and his eyes fastened upon a plump mallard standing on one foot in the corner below him, with his bill buried under his wing, and his eyes closed as if he were fast asleep; and so life-like did theeagle look that one almost expected to see him leap from his perch and bear the duck off in his talons.
There were hawks, blue-jays, crows, snow-buntings, grouse, quails, snipes, cedar-birds, and gold finches upon the shelves; in fact, almost all the varieties of the feathered creation which were to be found in the woods about Eaton were here represented. And they were all arranged with artistic taste, too.
Oscar had carefully studied the habits of every bird and animal he hunted, and in his collection there was not one that was awkwardly mounted, or that was placed in a position which the bird or animal would not have assumed during his life-time.
A red fox, on the lower shelf, was creeping along in a crouching attitude, evidently meditating an attack upon a wild goose, which stood a little distance away, engaged in arranging its plumage; a snowy owl watched with wide and solemn eyes a gray squirrel sitting upon its haunches and gnawing its way into a hickory-nut, which it held between its fore-paws; a butcher-bird was engaged in its usualoccupation of impaling an insect upon a thorn; a hawk was about to begin a meal upon an unfortunate quail it had just captured; a mink had its eyes fastened upon a hare which was sitting comfortably in its form; a ruffed grouse—the last object Oscar had mounted—was standing up as straight as an arrow, evidently watching the boy as he came in.
This is the position the grouse always assumes when it is sitting in a tree and sees a hunter approaching. It draws itself up so stiffly, and remains so motionless, that the sportsman often mistakes it for a part of the limb on which it is sitting, and passes on without trying a shot at it.
The birds were all mounted on temporary perches, made by nailing two short pieces of wood together in the form of the letter T, the standard being set into a block about three inches square, to enable them to retain an upright position.
They were fastened to the perch by the wires that came down through the legs and feet, and as the wires extended into the body and assisted to keep the birds in shape, the positionsof the specimens could be changed in an instant at the will of the taxidermist.
Oscar had killed and mounted every one of them himself, and took no little pride in showing them to his friends.
The young taxidermist walked over to the table and picked up the grouse. It was a perfect specimen of his work, and he held it off at arm's length and admired it.
"I'll put this in Mr. Jackson's case," said he, as he arranged some of the plumage with a pair of pliers. "Then I'll put in a pair of quails, two English snipes, two wood-cock, that young heron over there, and they will be as many as I can stand on the bottom of the case without crowding them too much. Then in the tree I'll put an imperial wood-pecker, and—hold on! I've got another gamebird that I can put in the tree."
The boy was so well pleased with the thought that had just passed through his mind that he laughed outright.
He put the grouse back upon the table, and took from one of the shelves a beautiful birdwhich was mounted on a board, instead of a perch, because it was web-footed. He looked at it closely, and found that it was in as good order as when it first came out from under his hands.
"Yes, I'll put that in the tree, too," said he, with another laugh, "and we'll see what Mr. Jackson will say when he finds it there."
Oscar passed along the shelves, taking down one specimen after another, and when he had selected as many as he thought he could use he went into the shop, dropped the curtain to its place, and, after lighting a fire in the stove, took some well-seasoned boards from the corner where he had placed them for safe keeping, and went to work upon the case.
During the next few days, Oscar toiled early and late. Under his skilful hands, the case grew in size and shape, and when at last it was put together, Oscar thrust his hands into his pockets and stood off to make a critical examination of it.
The front was composed of double glass doors, hung on silver-plated hinges; the joints were tight and, taken altogether, it was apiece of work with which any cabinet-maker would have been entirely satisfied.
But it was not yet completed. The inside was to be ornamented with a painting of a woodland scene, and the outside was to be stained in imitation of black walnut.
Having satisfied himself that his work could not be improved in any way, Oscar put on his coat, took a small hand-saw from the bench, and turning the key upon the sleeping Bugle, who lay behind the stove, dreaming of foxhunts past and to come, he bent his steps toward the nearest piece of woods.
When he came back again, an hour later, he carried over his shoulder a bundle of small branches which he had cut from hickory saplings. Of these he intended to make the tree that was to be put up in the case for the accommodation of some of the specimens.
He dropped into the post-office as he passed by, on his way home, not because he expected to find anything there, but for the reason that it had become a confirmed habit.
But there was a letter in his mother's box, and when the clerk handed it to him, he foundthat it was addressed to himself. He opened it as he walked along, and the first thing he took out of the envelope was a business card, bearing these words:
Calkins & Son,No. 126 Court St., Yarmouth.Poultry, Fish, Game, and Furs sold on Commission.Liberal advancements made on consignments.A share of the public patronage solicited.
"Humph!" said Oscar, as he thrust the card carelessly into his pocket. "I don't see what they sent that to me for. I can shoot all the game I want, and more, too. And as for fish—if I can't supply any three families in town during the season, I'll give it up."
Oscar next took the letter out of the envelope, and began reading it in the same careless, indifferent way in which he had read the card; but, before he had gone far, he stopped, went back to the beginning, and read it over again with more interest.
The letter ran as follows:
Dear Sir: We intend, during the coming winter, to make a specialty of small game of all kinds, and we wish to engage a competent person in your neighborhood, where, as we understand, partridges, quails, and rabbitsare abundant, to shoot for our Yarmouth market. We will take all you can send us, and you need have no fear of overstocking us.The accompanying price-current will show you how the market rules at the present date, and by examining it carefully, you will be able to make an estimate of your probable earnings, which ought to be something handsome.You have been recommended to us by a gentleman living in your vicinity, and we hope you will find it to your interest to return a favorable reply at an early day, and begin work for us at once. We should like a shipment from you immediately. The partridges we are now selling come principally from Michigan, and the demand far exceeds the supply,Yours, etc.,Calkins & Son.
Dear Sir: We intend, during the coming winter, to make a specialty of small game of all kinds, and we wish to engage a competent person in your neighborhood, where, as we understand, partridges, quails, and rabbitsare abundant, to shoot for our Yarmouth market. We will take all you can send us, and you need have no fear of overstocking us.
The accompanying price-current will show you how the market rules at the present date, and by examining it carefully, you will be able to make an estimate of your probable earnings, which ought to be something handsome.
You have been recommended to us by a gentleman living in your vicinity, and we hope you will find it to your interest to return a favorable reply at an early day, and begin work for us at once. We should like a shipment from you immediately. The partridges we are now selling come principally from Michigan, and the demand far exceeds the supply,
Yours, etc.,Calkins & Son.
"Well, I declare," thought Oscar, after he had read the letter over twice, in order to fully master the business terms it contained, "here's another windfall! They don't want me to buy of them, as I thought they did, but they want a chance to buy ofme. They shall have it I wonder what gentleman it was who was good enough to recommend me to them."
While Oscar was turning this question over in his mind, he glanced at the price-current which had been inclosed in the letter, and, after noting the prices paid for the variouskinds of game that were in demand in the Yarmouth market, he replaced it in the envelope, and began a little problem in mental arithmetic, with a view of ascertaining about how much his earnings would amount to each day, if he consented to shoot for Calkins & Son.
He based his calculation upon the amount of game he had bagged during some of his previous hunts, and in this way he obtained a tolerably fair idea of what his profits would be.
While he was thus engaged, he ran into the outstretched arms of his particular friend Sam Hynes, who had been home to dinner, and was hurrying back to school.
"Hallo, here!" exclaimed Sam. "You're just the fellow I want to see. What's that on your back?"
"Something of which to make a tree to put in a new case of birds I am setting up," answered Oscar, after he had returned his crony's cordial greeting.
"Say, Oscar," continued Sam, glancing up at the town clock to see how many minutes he could spend in conversation and still reach theschool-house before the last bell rang, "what are you going to do next Saturday?"
"I shall be quite at your service on that day," replied Oscar, who knew very well what the question meant. "Are they coming in yet?"
"By hundreds!" exclaimed Sam, with great enthusiasm. "I have been making inquiries of some farmers who live down the river, and they all tell the same story. Hang that string out of your window, and I'll have you up at half-past three. We must be on the water at the first peep of day, you know. Good-by!"
This was all that passed between the two friends, but they understood each other perfectly.
Almost every boy has his own way of enjoying himself, and Sam Hynes found all his recreation in wild-fowl shooting. He went fishing sometimes, because he liked to be on the river; but he could see no fun in jerking a string up and down in the water all day, and he preferred to lie back in the boat and watch the clouds as they floated over his head.
He could see no sport, either, in tramping about the woods, carrying a heavy gun on his shoulders; but when it came to shooting over decoys, Sam was wide awake and perfectly at home.
He was the best fellow in the world to go hunting with, too. If a sudden shower drenched him to the skin, and wet his powder so that his gun could not be discharged, if the birds flew wild, and he returned at night with no more game than he had when he started out in the morning, it was all the same to Sam. No one ever heard a word of complaint from him.
He knew how to roast a duck over the flames on a forked stick, and could get up so tempting a dinner from the contents of his lunch-basket that he was in great demand among the young Nimrods of the village, and could have accepted invitations for every Saturday in the year, if he had been so disposed. But he preferred to hunt with Oscar.
The latter owned some very fine decoys, which he had made and painted himself, and he knew how to use them, too. More thanthat—he was a very lucky young sportsman, and those who went with him seldom returned empty-handed.
After taking leave of his friend, Oscar continued his walk toward home, and before he got there he had finished his problem in mental arithmetic, and arrived at the conclusion that he was in a fair way to extricate himself from his financial difficulties, and that if the good luck that had followed him ever since he was discharged from the store would only continue for one short year, he would be all out of debt, and have something in the bank to draw on in case of emergency.
When Oscar reached home he showed his mother the letter he had received, and after spending a few minutes in conversation with her on the subject of market-shooting and his chances for making money out of it, he went into his work-shop and resumed his work.
On Friday afternoon the case was completed, and it was only necessary to wait until the paint on the inside should become dry, so that he could put up the tree he had made and place the birds upon it.
"It will be dry to-morrow night," thought Oscar, as he stood with his brush in his hand, surveying the woodland scene which ornamented the interior of the case, "and on Monday morning I will take it over and see what Mr. Jackson has to say about it. Well, boys, I am glad to see you."
Just then the door was thrown open and Sam Hynes came rushing in—he was always in a hurry—followed by Miles Jackson, the nephew of the gentleman for whom the case of birds was intended.
Sam had dropped in to make sure that the arrangements for the duck hunt on the morrow were fully understood, and Miles had come with him to see how Oscar was progressing.
They did not immediately reply to Oscar's words of greeting, for they were too much interested in what they saw before them.
They looked at the case on all sides, admired the picture Oscar had just finished, and then they turned their attention to the tree, which they examined closely.
"You have got a good fit on these joints," said Sam, who was himself very handy withtools. "If you stand a little way from it you would take it for a natural tree. It is almost as good a job as I could have done myself. What made you drill all these little holes in the branches?"
"The wires which support the birds go through those holes and turn up on the other side, so that they can't be seen," answered Oscar.
"Oh, yes; I understand. Now, when do you think—— What in the world sent that miserable fellow prowling around here, I wonder?" said Sam, in an undertone, looking at his friend Miles and scowling fiercely.
This exclamation was called forth by the opening of the door and the entrance of a boy for whom Sam had of late conceived a violent dislike. His name was Stuart, and he was one of the clerks in Smith & Anderson's store.
The reason Sam disliked him was because he had heard from several sources that Stuart had treated Oscar very rudely ever since Tom ran away with his employers' money.
He would not speak to Oscar at all, or even look toward him if he could help it; but hehad a great deal to say in his presence concerning thieves and defaulting book-keepers and cashiers.
"Stuart had better not talk that way in my hearing," declared Sam, one day, when a lot of school-boys were talking about Oscar and his troubles; and as he said it he doubled up a pair of fists that were pretty large and heavy for a boy of sixteen. "Oscar is my friend, and any fellow who says a word against him can just scratch my name off his good books. Mark my words: If there was a dishonest clerk in that store, he's there yet; and if money was missed from the drawer while Oscar was employed there, it will be missed now that he is gone. Oscar Preston never had a dishonest penny in his hands."
If Sam had owned the shop he would have ordered Stuart out of it on the instant; but as he had no right to do that, he simply returned the clerk's bow, scowled savagely at his friend Miles, and felt like giving Oscar a punch in the ribs because he greeted Stuart so cordially.
The new-comer seemed surprised to find so many boys in the shop, and for a minute ortwo he did not speak. He stood with his hand on the latch, evidently undecided whether to go out or come in. Finally he made up his mind that he would come in.
"I was out delivering goods," said he, as he closed the door behind him, "and I thought I would run in for just a moment and see what a taxidermist's shop looks like. I have a curiosity to see a bird before it is put up ready for sale."
"All right," said Oscar, laying down his paint-brush. "I think I can show you some fine specimens. Come in here."
As he spoke he drew aside the curtain and conducted his visitor into the recess, while Sam showed what he thought of such a proceeding by picking up a block of wood and hitting the work-bench a savage blow with it.
"Oscar is too good for any use," said Sam, turning to Miles and speaking in a low whisper. "If Stuart had talked about me as I know he has talked about him, I'd never make up with him in that fashion—never! Let's go home!"
"Oh, no!" whispered Miles in reply. "I haven't seen any birds yet, and neither have you said a word to Oscar about that duck hunt."
Sam pulled out his knife and hunted around on the bench until he found a pine stick, which he proceeded to cut up into the smallest possible pieces; while Miles, after listening to some explanations that Oscar was making for the benefit of the clerk, went into the recess.
Sam was standing with his back to the threeboys, but he could distinctly see every move they made.
On the wall, opposite the curtain, hung a broken mirror, which had once held an honored place in Mrs. Preston's parlor.
Sam glanced into this mirror now and then, while he was engaged in cutting up his stick, and saw that Stuart was paying very little attention to what Oscar was saying to him.
He appeared to be very uneasy, for he was constantly stepping about, and most of the time he kept his eyes fastened intently on Sam.
When Miles came in and began questioning Oscar about the specimen he was holding in his hands, Stuart walked to the other side of the recess, ran his eye over the stuffed occupants of the shelves, and then he came out into the shop and examined the tree on which Mr. Jackson's birds were to be mounted. After that he looked at Sam again.
The latter was standing a little to one side of the mirror, with his hat drawn down over his forehead, and seemed to see nothing but the stick he was whittling.
In the work-bench, directly under the tree, was an open drawer in which Oscar kept his paints, brushes, and various odds and ends.
Stuart moved up close beside this drawer, looked first at Sam, then at Miles and Oscar, who were still talking earnestly in the recess, and as quick as thought pulled something out of his coat pocket, raised a sheet of sand-paper that lay on the bottom of the drawer, and placed the object, whatever it was, under it.
This done, he backed up against the drawer, and pushed it to its place. He leaned on the bench for a few seconds, looking toward Oscar, as if he were listening to what he was saying, and then suddenly straightened up.
"I must be going," said he, starting toward the door. "I hope I haven't put you to any trouble, Oscar."
"None whatever," replied the latter.
And Sam noticed, with no little satisfaction, that he did not ask the clerk to call again.
When Stuart closed the door behind him, Sam shut up his knife and slammed his stick down in the corner. The noise attracted theattention of Miles, who looked over his shoulder, and was surprised to see Sam holding one forefinger upon his lips, and beckoning eagerly to him with the other.
Miles came out into the shop with an inquiring look on his face, while Oscar lingered in the recess to arrange the plumage of one of the specimens which had become rumpled while he was handling it.
Sam walked over to the drawer of the work-bench and opened it, standing with his back toward Oscar.
"I know now what that rascal came here for," said he, in a scarcely audible whisper, "and I want you for a witness."
"What's that?" asked Miles, in his ordinary tone of voice, as his companion raised a sheet of sand-paper, and brought to light the article Stuart had placed there a few minutes before.
"Say not a word," cautioned Sam, "but come with me and I'll tell you all about it."
"Don't you fellows know that it is very rude to whisper in the presence of a third party?" said Oscar gravely. "I amsurprised at you. You did it while Stuart was in here, and I should like to know what you mean by it."
"We didn't want either of you to know what we were talking about," answered Sam. "I wouldn't have treated him as well as you did, and I don't think you would have been quite so cordial if you knew as much as we know," he added, with a significant glance at Miles.
"Oh, that's the trouble, is it? Never mind. We were not put here in this world to quarrel with everybody who doesn't like us. If we did that, we'd have time for little else. You are not going?" said Oscar, as Sam started for the door, with Miles close at his heels.
"Yes, we are. We have some business that must be attended to at once. I'll see you again before I go home."
Sam banged the door as he ceased speaking, and walked through the yard so rapidly that Miles could hardly keep pace with him.
When he had closed the gate behind him, he turned down the sidewalk and hurried on faster than ever.
"Hold up here," protested Miles. "You said you would tell me all about it, and how are we going to talk if you go ahead with railroad speed? What was it you took out of that drawer, and what business had you to touch it? I thought it was a pocket-book."
Sam stopped abruptly, and drew the article in question from the inside pocket of his coat.
Itwasa pocket-book, and quite a large one, too. It was made to carry bills at full length.
It was filled with papers, but Sam did not know whether or not there was any money in it, for he had not opened it, and he did not intend to do so.
He placed his finger under the silver clasp with which it was fastened, and held it up so that his friend could see it.
"What name is that?" he asked.
"Erastus Smith," replied Miles.
"Exactly. You saw me take this pocket-book out of that drawer, didn't you?"
"Of course I did."
"Well, I know who put it there, for I saw him do it."
Sam brought the pocket-book down intohis open palm with a sounding whack, and looked at his companion as if he thought he had made everything perfectly clear to him; but Miles only seemed bewildered.
"I should think you might see through the matter after I have explained it to you," said Sam, with some impatience.
"But you haven't explained it," answered Miles.
"That's so," admitted Sam, after reflecting a moment. "I'll do it now, while we walk along slowly. Stuart put this pocket-book in the drawer—for, as I told you, I saw him do it. He came into the shop for that very purpose. He is the fellow who has been stealing Mr. Smith's money, but he is trying his level best to fasten the guilt upon Oscar."
"Oh, I begin to understand the matter!" said Miles, his face flushing with indignation.
"Now the credit for the discovery I have made does not belong to me," continued Sam, who was as truthful and honest as he was blunt and fearless. "I never should have thought of it if it hadn't been for something Mr. Parker said to me. He told me the otherday that if there had been any stealing going on in that store since Tom Preston left, Stuart was the guilty one; and the reason Mr. Parker suspected him was because he has had so much to say against Oscar. He has told everybody in town who would listen to him that Oscar was discharged for till-tapping; and there were a good many who would listen to him, for there are people everywhere, you know, who take unbounded delight in hearing others slandered. I had two reasons for watching every move Stuart made while he was in the shop. I thought it would be a good plan to keep an eye on him, and I was impatient to see him start for the door. I didn't want him there."
"It was a wonder he didn't see that you were watching him," observed Miles.
"Do you remember that broken looking-glass that hangs on the north wall of the shop?" asked Sam. "I looked in there and saw everything he did."
Miles was astonished at his companion's shrewdness, and could only look the admiration he felt for him.
"But what made you rush out of the shop in such a hurry?" he inquired at length. "Why didn't you tell Oscar all about it, and relieve his mind at once?"
"Oh, it will not hurt him to wait a day or two longer," rejoined Sam; "and his vindication will be all the more welcome when it comes, as I am determined it shall come, through the man who has injured him. Mr. Smith has done Oscar a great deal of harm, and he must lose no time in undoing it. Now, then, here we are."
Sam stepped upon the threshold of Smith & Anderson's store, seized the latch with a determined grip, as if he were trying to break it in two, threw open the door and walked in.
The first person he met was Stuart, who started back in surprise at the sight of him. He was greatly alarmed—Sam could see that plainly—and he tried to conceal it by stepping briskly behind the counter and drawing the order book toward him.
"What can I do for you, boys?" he asked, as he held his pencil poised over the book.
"Nothing," growled Sam, who could notpossibly have spoken civilly to one whom he had caught in the act of trying to ruin his friend.
He kept on his way toward the office, and Stuart, as if divining his intention, said hurriedly, and in a low tone of voice:
"There's no one in there, Sam. Mr. Anderson has gone to the depot to see about some freight, and Mr. Smith has just stepped out. In fact, he has gone home, and won't be back to-night. Any word to leave for either of them?"
Sam shook his head and walked right on.
"That's a little too transparent," said he to Miles, who kept close at his side. "What did he want to whisper for? and why did he turn so red in the face? I'll warrant Mr. Anderson isn't near the depot, and that we shall find Mr. Smith perched on his high stool. He's always there since Tom went away."
At that moment, as if to confirm his words, the back door opened and Mr. Anderson came in. He was bareheaded, and had no overcoat on. Moreover, he carried a number of packages in his arms, and that was all the proof theboys needed to convince them that he had been busy in the warehouse.
When they entered the office, they found the senior partner right where Sam said they would find him—on his high stool.
He laid down his pen and looked at the boys over his spectacles, just as he had looked at Oscar on the day he discharged him.
"Mr. Smith," said Sam, "may we have a few minutes' private conversation with you?"
"I suppose so," was the reply. "Is it very private?"
"Well, we would rather you alone should hear what we have to say. If you choose to repeat it, that is your own affair."
As Sam spoke, he closed the door behind him, and turned the key in the lock.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the grocer; "what's the matter?"
"Mr. Smith," said Sam, without replying to the question, "have you lost any money lately?"
"Not a cent since Oscar went away," was the prompt reply.
"Now, let me tell you what's a fact!"exclaimed Sam. "We didn't come here to listen to any hard words against Oscar Preston, and if you are going to use them we'll not stay. We'll tell you that much to begin with. We will tell you, further, that you have made no friends by the slanderous reports you have circulated regarding that boy."
"I have circulated no slanderous reports about him," replied the grocer, who could scarcely believe his ears. "I said that I didn't think he was honest, and I say so yet."
"Yes; the story is all over town that you discharged Oscar because you thought he had taken money out of your drawer; but all the best people here know that he never did it. You say you have lost nothing lately. Do you happen to own a pocket-book about so long and so wide?" said Sam, placing his hands upon the desk, and indicating by them the length and breadth of the article he was describing.
Mr. Smith started as if he had been shot, and got off his high stool with such haste that he would have gone headlong to the floor ifMiles had not caught him and placed him fairly on his feet again.
He opened the door of a large safe that stood in one corner of the office, and, unlocking a little drawer on the inside, pulled it out and looked into it.
"Great Moses!" he ejaculated; "it is gone!"
"I thought so," said Sam. "Was there anything of value in it?"
"Wasthere?" shouted Mr. Smith, trembling all over with excitement. "There was a hundred and fifty dollars in money in it, and negotiable paper to the amount of eight hundred dollars more. Have you seen it, Sam? Have you got it? Hand it out here!"
"Now don't try to rush matters," said Sam, whose cool, deliberate way of talking and acting so exasperated the excited grocer that he could hardly refrain from laying violent hands upon him and searching his pockets. "This thing must be done decently and in order, or it can't be done at all. I certainly have a pocket-book in my possession, but I want to be sure that it belongs to you beforeI hand it over to you. Here, Miles, look at it while Mr. Smith describes it."
"That's it! that's it!" cried the grocer, catching a momentary glimpse of the pocket-book as Sam handed it to his companion. "I would know it among a thousand. It's mine! Give it to me!"
He made an effort to snatch it, but Sam was too quick for him. He succeeded in placing it in Miles's hands, and the latter held fast to it.
"Sam!" cried the angry and astonished grocer, picking up a heavy ruler and banging it down upon his desk, "do you think I would tell you a falsehood? Do you takemefor a thief?"
"All I have to say about that is, if we want people to put implicit faith in us, we must be careful how we accuse others of wrong," answered Sam boldly. "Now, what sort of a pocket-book is it?"
Miles had moved up close to the window, and stood with his back toward the grocer, holding the pocket-book in his hand, and waiting for him to describe it. He thoughthe was well acquainted with Sam Hynes, but he told himself now that he had never before known what sort of a fellow he was. He was astonished at Sam's impudence.
Mr. Smith was one of the oldest business men in Eaton; and although he was so close in his dealings, and thought so much of a dollar that he had never gained the respect or good-will of the majority of the people, he had never been suspected of dishonesty or untruthfulness.
And Sam did not by any means suspect him now. He simply wished to show Mr. Smith that he had been handling a two-edged sword that was liable to cut both ways.
"What sort of a pocket-book is it?" repeated Sam.
"Look for my name on the clasp," said Mr. Smith, who was so nervous and impatient that he could not stand still.
"I see it," said Miles.
"Then it is my property, and you might as well hand it out here at once," said the grocer. "I want to know how much I have lost, without any more trifling."
"There's no trifling about this," replied Sam. "There is more than one Erastus Smith in the world who is able to own a pocket-book like that. Go on."
"Open it, and look for a hundred dollars in paper money and fifty dollars in gold," said Mr. Smith, with an air of resignation.
"I find no such sum here," answered Miles,after he had looked through the pocket-book. "All I see is a single five-dollar note."
Mr. Smith groaned.
"Almost thirty-two hundred dollars in clean cash gone out of the firm in less than eight months," said he, with a long-drawn sigh. "That cuts down the profits fearfully—fearfully!"
"I find here some bills receivable."
"Good!" exclaimed the grocer. "I am glad the thief left them. There ought to be between eight and nine hundred dollars' worth of them."
Mr. Smith then went on to give a description of the bills, which were endorsed and filed in nearly the same order in which he referred to them.
So retentive was his memory that he could recall the dates of a good many of them, give their exact wording, and tell the color of the paper and ink that were used in writing them.
After he had gone through half a dozen of the bills in this way, Miles turned and looked at Sam.
"Are you satisfied?" asked the latter.
"I am," replied Miles.
"Then hand it over."
Mr. Smith snatched the pocket-book as it was extended toward him, and climbed to his place upon the high stool.
"Where did you get this?" said he.
"In a drawer in Oscar Preston's work-bench," replied Sam.
"Ah!" said the grocer, in a very significant tone of voice. "Now, the next question is: How did it come there?"
The answer almost took Mr. Smith's breath away.
"Your favorite clerk, Will Stuart, put it there, for I saw him do it," said Sam.
And then he went on to describe, in as few words as possible, what Stuart had done while he was in Oscar's shop, and explained the object he had in view in taking the pocket-book out of the drawer without Oscar's knowledge.
Mr. Smith pushed his spectacles over his forehead and listened intently to all the boy had to say, and, when Sam ceased speaking, he brought his hand down upon his desk with a ringing slap.
"I wondered why Stuart was so eager to drive the delivery-wagon this afternoon, and this explains it," said he. "I see it all now. Stuart knew that I do not often have occasion to open that little drawer in the safe, and he probably took the book a day or two ago—I know it was there last Saturday, for I saw it—thinking that, if he placed it in Oscar's bench, where it would certainly have been found if we had taken out a search-warrant, we would believe that he stole it before he was discharged. You have no objection to facing Stuart, I suppose?"
"None whatever," Sam promptly replied; "that is just what we came here for."
Mr. Smith climbed down from his high stool, unlocked and opened the door, and looked out into the store. The only person he saw there was the junior partner.
"Send Stuart here, will you?" said he.
"Stuart has gone home," was the reply. "He had a sudden attack of sick headache."
"Oh, he did, did he?" exclaimed Sam. "It must have been very sudden, for he was well enough ten minutes ago."
Mr. Anderson came into the office in obedience to a sign from his partner, and was speedily made acquainted with the object of the boys' visit.
He was almost overwhelmed with astonishment, and declared that he never would have believed it of Stuart.
"Now, Mr. Smith," said Sam, when there was a little pause in the conversation, "we will leave this matter in your hands. I am ready to be a witness at any time, if you decide to prosecute; but I shall not spread any damaging reports about Stuart, and neither will Miles. We don't believe in hitting a person when he's down. We have one favor to ask of you, and that is that you will make Oscar all the amends in your power for the great injustice you have done him."
"I know what my duty is under the circumstances, young gentlemen," said Mr. Smith shortly.
He had got his pocket-book back, and eight hundred dollars' worth of bills, and he felt a little more independent.
The boys picked up their caps and left thestore, while Mr. Smith mounted his high stool and mopped his face vigorously with his handkerchief. The exciting scene through which he had just passed had brought the perspiration out on his forehead in big drops.
"I had no idea that Sam Hynes was such a bad boy," said he to his partner. "He wouldn't give up that pocket-book until I proved its contents; and I have done business right here in this town for almost half a century. He had the impudence to tell me, in effect, that if I didn't want to be suspected of dishonesty myself I must not be in such haste to suspect others. I declare, he's a wonderful bad boy—wonderful!"
Meanwhile, Sam was walking down the street, with his hands in his pockets, whistling merrily, and taking such strides that Miles, after trying in vain to keep up, seized him by the arm and held him back.
"Sam," said he, "how dare you talk that way to a grown man? If I had been Mr. Smith, I would have boxed your ears for you."
Sam looked up at the clouds and laughed heartily.
"You might have got your hands full," said he.
"What will your father say when he hears of it?" continued Miles.
"He'll hear of it as soon as he comes home to-night," replied Sam. "I make it a point never to do a thing that I am afraid or ashamed to have him know, and I shall tell him of it myself. He'll give me a good going over for not being more respectful to gray hairs; but I deserve it, and I'll never do the like again—never," added Sam, who wished now, when it was too late, that he had remembered that Mr. Smith was the grandfather of two of the members of the ball club to which he belonged. "I knew well enough that he wouldn't lay claim to any but his own property, but he thought I was suspicious of him, and it cut him, didn't it? Perhaps he'll know now how Oscar felt to be unjustly accused. Going to turn off here? Well, good-by! I promised to see Oscar again, you know. I'll drop around to-morrow night and leave a brace of ducks for your Sunday dinner. Now, Miles——"
Sam finished the sentence by shaking hisfinger at his friend and then placing it upon his closed lips.
"I understand, and I'll bear it in mind, too," was the reply.
"Good-by, and good luck to you!"
When Sam entered the shop where Oscar was still at work, the latter had a good many questions to ask regarding his abrupt departure a few minutes before; but Sam, being all ready for him, gave his inquiries prompt replies, which, although they satisfied Oscar's curiosity, did not let him into the secret of the matter.
The young taxidermist thought his friend appeared to be very jubilant, and well he might, for he had done something to be proud of.
Suppose a constable had come up there with a search-warrant and found Mr. Smith's property in the place where Stuart had left it! Oscar would have been in trouble indeed. The latter did not know what a narrow escape he had had that day, and it was no part of his companion's plan to enlighten him.
Sam never talked about his exploits. Hesat on the bench with his hands under his legs, school-boy fashion, pounded with the heels of his boots against the drawer in which the pocket-book had been concealed, and talked incessantly about the duck-hunt that was to come off the next day. When all their plans had been discussed, Sam said good-night and left the shop.
As soon as Oscar had eaten his supper he went up to his room, and when he came down again he carried a game-bag, powder-flask, and shot-pouch in one hand, and a double-barrel gun in the other.
Oscar's gun was not just the weapon that one would expect to see after listening to the description of it which Leon Parker had given his cousin. It was a good deal larger and heavier than the little bird-gun which held so prominent a place in Leon's estimation, but it was not a "blunderbuss," and there were several boys, and men, too, in the village, who would have been glad to purchase it at any figures the owner might have put upon it.
But it had once belonged to his father, and Oscar would not have parted with it for anyconsideration. It was known all over the country as a "brag shooting-gun," and among all the young hunters in the neighborhood there were but few who could show as many birds at the end of a day's hunt as Oscar could.
Its weight was no detriment to him, for his strong muscles enabled him to handle it very easily and quickly, and he seldom missed a double shot when the opportunity to make it was presented to him.
Having received a thorough rubbing, inside and out, the weapon was set away in one corner with a couple of corks in the muzzles and an oiled rag over the tubes to keep out the dust; and two hours later Oscar was snug in bed, wrapped in a dreamless slumber.
One of his windows was raised about three inches, and through this opening ran a stout cord, one end of which was tied to a chair standing at the head of Oscar's bed; the other reached down to the ground and was securely fastened to a rose-bush.
Shortly after four o'clock in the morning, Bugle, who always slept on the front porchwhen the weather was warm enough to permit it, challenged someone who came into the yard, and soon thereafter the cord began to saw up and down over the window-sill.
The chair moved, but Oscar slept on all unconscious of it. The person below waited and listened a few seconds and then renewed his pulls at the string, putting considerably more strength and energy into them.
This time the chair was upset with a loud crash, and Oscar jumped up and hurried to the window. It was too dark to see anybody, but he knew who was there.
"We'll have to make haste, for I overslept myself," said Sam Hynes's well-known voice. "Did I do any damage up there? I heard something come down pretty hard."
"Oh, no!" was the reassuring answer. "Have you had any breakfast?"
"Of course not. I intend to get it here."
"All right. I'll be down in five minutes."
Oscar dressed himself with all haste, and when he went downstairs he found Sam waiting for him at the back door.
Bugle entered when Sam did—he alwayskept as close to a gun as he could—and frisked about in high glee, thrashing the boys with his heavy tail and continually getting in their way.
"Splendid morning," said Sam, as he leaned his gun up in one corner. "Warm and foggy; more like spring than fall. The ducks always fly low during a fog. What can I do to help you?"
"Nothing at all. Just sit down and make yourself comfortable. The fire is laid, and it will take but a few minutes to make a cup of coffee. You think it is going to be a good day, do you? Then I ought to make some money before night. Calkins & Son of Yarmouth have written me a letter offering to take all the game I can send them."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Sam. "I am glad to hear it."
He did not tell Oscar that he knew all about it, but such was the fact. He knew that Mr. Parker had been down to the city to attend to some legal business for that very firm; and it was when he was looking about their store and listening while Mr. Calkins expressed hisregrets that he could not secure game enough to supply the demand, which was unusually great just then, that the lawyer happened to think of Oscar, whom he recommended as the best person Mr. Calkins could engage to shoot for him.
The latter, seeing that his visitor was interested in the boy, said he would try to secure his services, and if he succeeded, he would pay him for his game as soon as it was received, and not wait to sell it on commission.
Mr. Parker gave the merchant Oscar's address, and that was the way our hero came to be a market-shooter.
Sam, we repeat, knew all about it; but he listened while Oscar talked of the offer he had received, and acted as though everything he heard was news to him.
The fire was soon cracking away merrily, and, while waiting for the kettle to boil, Oscar busied himself in setting the table.
Bugle, finding that he was entirely neglected, called attention to himself by uttering a deafening bay.
"Silence!" exclaimed Oscar. "That willnever do. He will disturb mother. We must shut him up. Bugle is no good for ducks."
"I'll fix him," said Sam.
"Take your gun with you," suggested Oscar, as Sam took the key of the shop down from its nail. "You'll never get him in there if you don't."
Bugle was quite ready to accompany Sam when he saw the boy pick up his double-barrel; that is, he was ready to accompany him to the woods, but he would not follow him to the shop.
He ran out of the wood-shed, and, thrusting his head in at the door, looked at Sam, but he could not be induced to go near him.
Oscar could hear his friend coaxing and scolding, and finally a suppressed whine from Bugle told him that Sam had been obliged to collar the animal and drag him into his prison.
A hearty breakfast having been disposed of, a lunch was stowed away in Oscar's game-bag, and the boys were ready for the start.
In the wood-shed they found a light wheelbarrow, which contained the decoys they wereto use during the hunt and also the sail and oars belonging to Oscar's boat.
Sam took his friend's gun under his arm, Oscar set the wheelbarrow in motion, and, with Bugle's farewell ringing in their ears, they set out for the river at a rapid walk.