"So it would seem, if a tenth part of what you say is true," was the comment of Alvin.

The village, which I have thought best to call Beartown, straggles along both sides of the highway which runs the length of Westport island. It has a neat wooden church, a faded school house, which had been closed several weeks, it being vacation time, two stores, a blacksmith and a carpenter shop, but lacks a hotel, no one being enterprising enough to build such a structure with the meagre prospects he would have to face. If now and then some visitor wished to stay overnight in the place it depended upon his success in finding lodgings with one of the citizens. This could not always be done, but it is safe to say that Mike Murphy won the favor of so many with whom he came in contact that a half dozen homes would have been glad to take him in indefinitely. Strolling along the highway, his attention was caught by sight of a modest frame building, standing near the middle of the village with the sign in small letters "Post Office" over the front porch, which was crowded with samples of what were for sale at the store.

Entering the open door, he asked in his most suave manner if there was a letter for "Michael Murphy, lately from Tipperary." The thin old lady in spectacles behind the counter, at the front, pulled the half dozen missives from the pigeon hole over which the letter "M" showed and slowly inspected each. She gently shook her head:

"It doesn't seem to have arrived; probably it will come in the next mail."

Mike's genial face became the picture of disappointment.

"That's mighty qu'ar. The Duke promised he would write me two waaks ago from his castle and return the five pounds I loaned him. Ye can't thrust the nobility."

"I am sorry," said the sympathetic postmistress, "but I don't see how I can help you. Have patience and all will come right."

"Don't think it's yersilf I'm blaming, though onraisoning folks are inclined that way. The matter of a little money doesn't consarn me, but it's the aboose of me confidence."

Just then a man came in to inquire for a letter, and the sweet looking old lady was obliged to withdraw her attention from the freckled face before her.

During this brief interview a girl not yet out of short dresses stood behind the counter, measuring out some calico for a woman in a scoop shovel-bonnet. The girl's face was as mirthful as Mike's, and her black eyes twinkled with mischief. She heard all that was said, and read the youth like a book. He looked more at her than at her mother, and could not help being pleased with the lively young lady. Never at loss for an excuse in such circumstances, he waited at the front of the store, sighing as if greatly depressed, until the woman customer paid her bill, accepted the roll and walked out. Then Mike, blushing so far as it was possible to do so, moved respectfully toward the smiling attraction.

"I lost me wheelbarrer in coming up from me launch; have ye anything of the kind ye would be willing to sell to a poor orphan?"

"Will one be all you want?" asked the miss. "We can furnish you with a dozen as well as a single barrow. How much would you like to pay?"

Mike was caught. He had taken a comprehensive survey of the display outside the store before entering, and was sure that only the simplest agricultural implements were on sale. Furthermore, he had less than a silver dollar in his pockets.

"I'll have to wait to consoolt me partners," he replied, while nature did her best to deepen the blush on his broad countenance. "Ye see it's them that has to do the work fur me, and it's only fair on me side to let them have something to say about the ch'ice of tools. What do ye think yersilf?"

"I think you haven't any wish to buy a wheelbarrow, that you haven't the money to pay for it, and I know we haven't one in the store—so I think further that there won't be any sale so far as wheelbarrows are concerned."



CHAPTER XI

AT THE POST OFFICE IN BEARTOWN

Although Mike Murphy rarely got the worst of it in a bout at repartee, he had the true sporting instinct and liked the winner because of his victory. It took a bright person to beat him, but it did happen now and then, and he enjoyed a clash of wits with one who proved his master, though in the long run the youth generally came out ahead.

When, therefore, the girl in the post office at Beartown snapped out the remark just printed, he was roused to admiration. He threw back his head and the store rang with his infectious laughter.

"Begorra! ye were too much for me that time. If ye'll not think me impudent, I beg the privilege of shaking hands wid ye."

The merry sprite, laughing almost as heartily as he, though with less noise, reached a dainty hand across the counter and he grasped it. From behind the rack at the front of the store, the gentle mother beamed with a smile. She had heard and understood it all.

"I am afraid, Nora, you were rude to the gentleman," she said in her silvery voice.

"Not a bit!" was the hearty response of Mike. "I got it that time where the chicken got the axe—which the same is in the neck. It was a fair hit and I desarved more, though no one could give it to me."

It may be said that this little incident fixed Mike in the favor of mother and daughter. It was hard to resist the rollicking good nature of the Irish youth, who was equally impressed by the gentle goodness of the mother and the sprightly wit of the daughter. He now called a halt with his nonsense and gave a true account of the situation. His two companions were the sons of wealthy parents and one of them owned a beautiful motor launch which broke down while descending the river from Wiscasset. He had left the two trying to tinker it in shape, but had doubts of their success. In case they failed, it would be very pleasing to them if they could get supper and lodging in Beartown. Would the good woman advise them where to apply?

She replied that she would be glad to meet their wants, though they would be disappointed with the poor meals and lodging, for she knew they must be accustomed to much better. This was the invitation for which Mike was angling and he promptly accepted, assuring the woman that it was a fine piece of good fortune which more than repaid them for the disabling of their engine.

"They may repair it and go home," suggested Nora.

"That will make no difference, for I sha'n't return to them till night comes and then they'll have no ch'ice."

"They may not wait for you," said Nora.

"Little fear of their laving widout me, so nothing will be done till I arrive, as Brian O'Lynn said when he was walking forth to be hanged."

With no other purpose in mind than to force his friends to stay over night in the village, Mike Murphy loitered. When the mother and daughter were not engaged with customers he entertained them by his quaint remarks, which kept the smile on their faces. He had seated himself, on the invitation of Nora, in a chair at the rear of the store, where he was in no one's way and where he could make use of his eyes. Thus it came about that he observed several interesting facts.

Mrs. Friestone and Nora made up the whole force of the store, which did a considerable trade in groceries and articles such as a village community needs. Furthermore, the abundant and excellent stock showed that the owner was not only enterprising but understood her business. The other store in Beartown hardly rose to the dignity of a rival.

It may as well be said at this point that her husband, who had been dead six years, went through the whole war for the Union and was badly wounded several times. President Grant personally complimented Captain Friestone for his bravery in battle, and when he became President appointed him as postmaster at Beartown. He suffered so grievously from his old wounds that the small post office and his pension were all that saved him and his young wife from actual want. He took up storekeeping in a small way, gradually branching out until he had established a flourishing business, whereupon he did an almost unheard of thing. As soon as he knew his future was secure, he notified the government that he would no longer accept a pension and he stuck to the resolution.

The veteran was retained in office by the successors of President Grant until his death, when the appointment was given to his widow, not a member of the community asking for a change. The income was meagre, but the widow had become accustomed to the duties, having performed them during the last years of her husband's life, and she liked the work. The store paid so well that it more than met the wants of the two.

When the cheering thousands welcomed the soldiers returning from the war, a proud father held his little girl on his shoulder and she waved her hand joyously to the bronzed heroes some of whom were still little more than boys. One laughing soldier snatched away the child and kissed her. He was Captain Friestone and the girl was Bessie Elton. The acquaintance thus begun ripened until the time arrived for her to put on long dresses, and by and by she became the happy bride of the officer, and never a shadow darkened their hearthstone until Death called and took away the brave husband and father.

Mike noticed that a massive safe stood behind the counter in a corner at the rear of the store. The ponderous door was open, for mother and daughter had frequent cause to use the repository. Within the steel structure all the stamps, government funds and daily cash receipts were deposited at the close of the day's business. The value of these was slight, but the safe contained a great deal more. While Nora was lighting the five kerosene lamps, suspended on brackets at favorable points in the store, a middle aged and somewhat corpulent man bustled in, nodded to the widow and handed her a large sealed envelope. Mike heard him say, "Twenty-five hundred," and she replied "Very well." It was evident that he had brought in that amount of money and left if for security with her. On the back of the envelope—though of course the youth did not see this—was written in a large, round hand, "C. Jasper, $2500."

The widow walked to the rear of the store, drew out one of the small central drawers of the safe and placed the big envelope in it, still leaving the heavy door open, though the little drawer was locked with a tiny key.

Five minutes later, a second man, thin, nervous and alert, stepped through the door, glanced sharply around and passed a similar envelope to the woman. On the back of it was written, "G. H. Kupfer—$1250."

"You will please give me a receipt," he said in his brisk fashion. The reply was gentle:

"I cannot do that."

"Why not? It's simple business."

"Mr. Kupfer, because you have more faith in my safe than in your small one, you bring your money to me. I have not asked it; I should rather not have it, and I do it only to accommodate you, besides which I charge you nothing. If burglars should break in and steal your money, I cannot be responsible. Do I make that clear to you?"

"Why, Mrs. Friestone, I have no fear of that sort; I only ask that you give me a receipt merely as a matter of record and to save you possible annoyance. Suppose anything should happen to me—such as my death—my folks would be put to great trouble to get this money."

"That cannot possibly occur, for your name and the amount are written on the sealed envelope; I know every member of your family, and in the event you speak of I should hand it personally to some one of them. On no other condition will I take your money for safe keeping. Follow your own pleasure."

"Oh, well," replied the caller, with a nervous laugh, "have it as you please. I have left money with you before and haven't suffered. But say——"

As the keen eyes flitted around the store, he saw Mike Murphy sitting under one of the lamps and looking as if he was not listening to their conversation. Mr. Kupfer leaned over the counter and lowered his voice:

"Who is he?"

"A young gentleman."

"I don't like his looks."

"Then I advise you not to look at him," was the reply.

"How long is he going to hang round the store?"

"Just so long as it suits his pleasure to do so. He and two of his friends are going to take supper and stay overnight with us."

"Do you know anything about the two?"

"I have never seen them, and I never saw this young gentleman till this afternoon."

The caller turned his face and scanned Mike more closely. The youth, who was boiling with anger, tried to look as if unaware of the insulting action.

"Please hand that package back," said Mr. Kupfer, with a compression of his thin lips.

Without a word, the widow passed the envelope to the man, who whisked through the open door, fairly leaping off the porch to the dusty path.

Who shall describe the emotions of Mike Murphy during these exasperating moments? He recalled the experience of Alvin and Chester, as they related it to him, when they were arrested as post office robbers some days before, and now something similar in essence had come to him. But what could he do? He would have liked to pummel the one who had insulted him, but that was impracticable, inasmuch as he had not addressed any words to the youth.

While he was fuming and glaring at the door through which the man had disappeared, Mike heard a soft chuckle behind him. He whisked his head around and saw Nora standing beside the safe just back of him, stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth and with her face almost as crimson as his own.

"If I may be so bowld I should like to know what ye are laughing at," said Mike, who could feel no resentment toward the merry young miss.

"We both heard what he said," she replied as soon as she could command her voice.

"Being I faal like a firecracker that has jest been teched off, I suspict I caught his loving remarks consarning mesilf."

"Will you tell me something truly—upon your word of honor—take your dying oath?"

"That I will, ye may depind upon the same."

"Are you a real post office robber?"



CHAPTER XII

HOSTESSES AND GUESTS

Mike affected to be greatly embarrassed by the question of Nora Friestone. He swallowed what seemed to be a lump rising in his throat, grinned in a sickly way and then asked as if much distressed:

"Do ye insist on me answering yer quistion?"

"I do," she replied, with an expression of tremendous solemnity.

"Then I'll hev to own that I'm the champion post office robber in Maine. It was mesilf that plundered three offices, each a hundred miles from the ither, on the same night and burned up an old man, his wife and siven children that vintured to dispoot me will. I've been in the bus'ness iver since the year one and me home is Murthersville at the head of Murthersville Creek in Murthersville County."

Rising from his chair, Mike bowed low.

"I thrust I have answered yer quistions satisfactorily, Miss."

"You couldn't have done better—hello, Jim!"

This salutation was to a big gawky boy, who slouched through the door, with the announcement:

"Wal, I'm ready: what shall I do?"

"Who's yer frind?" asked Mike of Nora.

"He comes round each morning to take out and place the things on the porch in front and brings them in again each evening"

"Jim," said Mike, addressing the gaping youngster, "ye're discharged fur to-night. I'm doing yer job for the avening, but you git your wages just the same."

With which Mike thrust his hand into his trousers pocket and drew out one of the three silver quarters there, handing it to the boy, who was too mystified to understand what it meant.

"Yaws," he said, with a silly grin, looking at the coin and then clasping it tight; "what do yuh warnt me to dew?"

"Go right home to yer mommy and give her that quarter to save up fur ye. Don't git gay on the road and buy a horse and wagon."

"Yaws, but—uh—I don't understand what yuh am drivin' at."

"Ye don't understand anything in this wurruld and by yer looks niver will."

"He means, Jim," interposed Nora, "that he will bring in the things to-night for us, but you must come round in the morning and set them out again. That's plain enough, isn't it?"

"Yaws—but what did he give me so much money fur? I hain't done nothin' to earn it; I don't understand it."

"We all know that. Come wid me, James."

As Mike spoke, he slipped his arm under that of Jim and walked to the door, not pausing until they stood on the porch.

"Now, James, tell me where ye live."

"Yaws, what fur?"

"'Cause I asked ye; out wid it!"

The lad pointed a crooked finger down the street to the left.

"Now, see how quick ye can git thar. Don't look back, and whin ye tumbles over the doorsill, tell yer mither ye won't have any wurruk to do here until to-morrer mornin'."

"Oh, yaws, I understand—why didn't ye say so afore?"

"'Cause ye wouldn't have understood if I did. Off wid ye!"

And to make sure of being obeyed, Mike gave him a push which caused his dilapidated straw hat to fall off. He snatched it up and broke into a lope, as if afraid of harm if he lingered longer in the neighborhood of such strange doings.

"Now, Miss Nora, if ye'll tell me where ye want these things placed, I shall be honored by carrying 'em in fur ye."

Mike stood in the front door and looked down the big store to Nora, at the rear, who called:

"Set them in the back part of the room right here where I'm standing."

"How can I put 'em there, if ye stand there?" asked Mike.

"I expect to get out of your way."

"Oh, yaws," remarked the youth, mimicking Jim, who had shown so much mental bewilderment.

The task was easy. There were picks, shovels, rakes, hoes, spades, pails, ice cream freezers, toy wagons with gilt letters, coils of rope and the various articles displayed by most village or country stores to attract custom. These were carried in by the lusty Mike, a half dozen at a time, and set down somewhat loosely at the rear, Nora making a few suggestions that were hardly needed.

While this was going on, the mother employed herself in locking the safe for the night. It will be remembered that in addition to the stamps and money belonging to the government and to herself, a liberal amount was already there, the property of one of the leading citizens of Beartown, who was glad to entrust it to the keeping of the honest widow.

"I think," said the daughter when Mike had completed his work, which took only a few minutes, "you have earned your supper."

"Ah, now what reward can equal the light of yer blue eyes and the swate smile that shows the purtiest teeth in the State of Maine?" was the instant inquiry in return.

The mother had just finished locking the safe, and, standing up, she laughed in her gentle way and said:

"Surely you have kissed the blarney stone, Mike."

"I would have done the same had the chance been mine, which it wasn't. Is there any more play that ye call wurruk which I can do fur the likes of ye?"

"Nothing more, thank you. Nora and I will now close the store and attend to preparing supper."

"And I'll bring me frinds to enj'y the same."

So Mike bade them good night for a brief while, and strode down the road to find Alvin and Chester, whom, as you know, he met on their way to look for him. The three lingered and chatted, with the view of giving mother and daughter time in which to make ready the evening meal.

Following a common fashion of the times, the veteran Carter Friestone, in building his store and home, made the second story the living room of the family. It could be reached by the stairs at the back of the regular entrance, being through a narrow hall where visitors rang a bell when they called.

The upper front apartment served for parlor and sitting room, and was neatly furnished, one of the principal articles being a piano. This was a birthday present to Nora, who was gifted with a naturally sweet voice and received instruction from the schoolmistress of Beartown. At the rear was the kitchen and dining room, with two bedrooms between that and the parlor, facing each other across the hall.

Nora answered the tinkle of the bell, and Alvin and Chester were introduced to her under the light of the hanging lamp overhead. The little party found the mother awaiting them at the head of the stairs.

"Supper will be ready in a few minutes," she said. "Nora will entertain you in the parlor until I call you."

The girl escorted them to the front room, where all sat down and chatted with the cheery good nature proper in such a party of young folks. Mike was at his best, and kept all laughing by his drollery. Nora's merriment filled the room with music. Michael had given his name soon after his entrance into the store, but insisted that the way to pronounce it was "Mike," not "Michael."

"I never knew such a funny person," said Nora, after one of his quaint remarks. "Mother and I took to him from the first."

"I find it's a common wakeness whereiver I go," said Mike gravely.

"We find him fairly good company," said Alvin. "He seems to have been born that way and we can hardly blame him."

"He tries our patience very much," added Chester, "but we have learned to bear the affliction."

"I wish you all lived in Beartown," said Nora impulsively, "and that Mike would call to see us every day."

"Whisht, now," said he, lowering his voice. "Whin I strolled through the town on me arrival, I was so chaarmed I began hunting fur a house and property to buy fur me home. I sthruck the right spot and made an offer to the owner of the same. I think we'll come to tarms, being there's only a difference of a thrifle of five or six thousand dollars in the price."

Mrs. Friestone now appeared with word that supper was waiting, and all passed into the kitchen and dining room. Of course she presided, Nora acting as waitress whenever necessary. Alvin and Chester complimented their hostess on the excellence of the meal, while Mike was so extravagant in his praise that they protested. Alvin told the particulars of their trip in the launch from home to Wiscasset and return, omitting of course all reference to Stockham Calvert that would give a hint of his profession and his purpose in making what looked like an aimless ramble through this portion of Maine. The Captain was assured that his boat would not be disturbed where it lay moored under the bank, and he and Chester gave no further thought to it.

The group lingered long at the table, and at the close of the meal Nora preceded them to the parlor, were she excused herself in order to help her mother in washing the dishes and clearing away things. The work was finished sooner than the friends expected, and the happy party gathered in the parlor.

The presence of the musical instrument made its own suggestion, and the lads insisted that Nora should favor them with a song or two. She had the good taste to comply after a modest protest, and gave them a treat. Her voice, as I have said, was of fine quality though rather weak, and she sang several of the popular songs of the day with exquisite expression. She was so warmly applauded that she blushed and sang again until it was evident to all she was tired.

"Now," said she as she rose from the stool and looked at Mike, "you must sing for us, for I know you can."

"Certainly, Mike, show them what you can do in that line," joined Alvin, and Chester was equally urgent.

He objected and held back, but when Mrs. Friestone joined in the request he rose reluctantly and went to the instrument.

And straightway came the surprise of the evening.



CHAPTER XIII

AN INCIDENT ON SHIPBOARD

Among the passengers on one of the most magnificent of ocean steamers that crossed the Atlantic during the summer of which I have made mention, was a famous prima donna coming to the United States to fulfil a contract which would net her many thousand dollars. This notable artist who possessed a most winning personality as well as great beauty was easily the most popular passenger aboard the steamer on that memorable trip across the ocean.

One evening this lady was strolling over the promenade deck under the escort of her brother. The night was unusually calm, with a bright moon in the sky. The mighty throbbing structure glided over the sleeping billows as across a millpond, and all were in fine spirits, for they were nearing home, and that dreadful affliction mal de mer had troubled only the abnormally sensitive. Neither the brother nor the prima donna had felt the slightest effects.

The two were chatting of many things, but nothing of any importance, when she suddenly stopped with an exclamation of surprise.

"Listen!" she added when they had stood motionless for a few seconds; "do you hear that?"

"I do; it is wonderful."

It was the voice of some one singing "Mavourneen," that sweet Irish melody which has charmed and will always charm thousands. It came from the second class section, which was separated from the first by two gates. These marked the "impassable chasm," so far as the less favored were concerned, though of course the first class passengers were free to wander whither they chose.

The lady and gentleman walked to the barrier and looked across.

"There he is!" said the man, in a low tone.

"Where?" asked his companion, with eager curiosity.

"To the right, in front of that group which has gathered round him."

"I see him now. Why, he is only a boy."

"A pretty big one. But hark!"

They ceased talking that they might not lose any of the marvellous music. Others gathered near until more than a score were listening near the bridge. Many more paused in different parts of the deck, and even the grim captain high up on the bridge expressed the opinion that the singer's voice was "infernally good."

The singer was modest, for when he discovered the number of listeners he abruptly ceased nor could any coaxing induce him to resume the treat.

"Louis," said the prima donna, after the silence had lasted some minutes and the various groups began dissolving, "I want you to bring that boy to me."

"Why, my dear, he is a second class passenger."

"What of that? He has a divine gift in his voice. I must meet him."

Louis shrugged his shoulders, but he was used to the whims of his brilliant sister. He strolled through one of the gates while she awaited his return. He soon appeared, walking slowly, in order to keep pace with a big boy behind him, who, it was evident, moved with deep reluctance. Louis led him straight to the lady, who advanced a step to meet him.

"I wish to shake hands with you," she said in her frank, winning manner, "and to tell you how much we all enjoyed your singing of 'Mavourneen.'"

The confused lad doffed his cap and bowed with awkward grace.

"It was mesilf that feared I was disturbing yer slumbers, which if it be the fact I beg yer pardon fur the same."

"Disturbing our slumbers! Did you hear that, Louis?"

And the artist's musical laughter rang out. More soberly she asked:

"Will you tell me your name?"

"Mike Murphy—not Michael as some ignorant persons call it—and I'm from Tipperary, in the County of Tipperary, and the town is a hundred miles from Dublin—thank ye kindly, leddy."

"Are you alone?"

Mike was standing with his cap in hand where the moonlight revealed his homely face and his shock of red hair. His self-possession had quickly come back to him and his waggishness could not be repressed. He glanced into the beautiful face before him and made answer:

"How can I be alone, whin I'm standing in the prisence of the swatest lady on boord the steamer, wid her father at her elbow?"

How the prima donna laughed!

"Louis, he thinks you are my father, when you are my twin brother! It's delicious."

"It may be for you, but not for me," he grimly answered, though scarcely less pleased than she over the pointed compliment to her.

Addressing Mike, the lady said:

"You have a wonderfully fine tenor voice: do you know that, Mike?"

"I do now, since yersilf has told me, though ye make me blush."

"Are you travelling alone?"

"Yes, Miss; I'm on me way to jine me dad and mither, which the same live in the State of Maine, of which I suppose yersilf has heerd."

"Have you had any instruction in music or the cultivation of your voice?"

"The only insthrumint on which I can play is the jewsharp, and folks that hear me always kindly requists me to have done as soon as I begin. As to me v'ice, the cultivation I've resaved has been in shouting at the cows when they wint astray or at the pigs whin they broke out of the stye."

"How would you like to become an opera singer, Mike?"

He recoiled, and, though he knew the meaning of the question, he asked:

"And phwat does ye mane by 'opera'?"

"Ah, you know, you sly boy. I am sure that after a few years of training you can make your fortune on the operatic stage."

The assurance did not appeal to Mike. He must find some excuse for declining an offer which would have turned the heads of most persons.

"It is very kind of you, leddy, and I'm sorry I can't accipt, as Terence Gallagher said whin the mob invited him out to be hanged."

"And why not?"

"Ye see, me dad, if he lives long enough will be eighty-odd years owld, and me mither is alriddy that feeble she can hardly walk across the floor of our cabin, and I am naaded at home to take care of the two."

"Well, let that go for the present. I wish you to come and see me to-morrow at ten o'clock. Will you do so?"

"How can I refoos?" asked Mike, who would have been glad to back out. "Who is it that I shall ask fur whin I vinture on this part of the boat?"

She gave him her name, thanked him for the meeting and bade him good night. Mike donned his cap and returned to his acquaintances, to whom he told a portion of what had taken place.

Dressed in his best, his obdurate hair smoothed down by dousing it in water and threading a brush many times through it, and spotlessly clean, Mike with many misgivings crossed the bridge the next morning into the more favored section of the steamer. He did not have to make inquiries for the lady, for she stood smilingly at the end of the first class promenade awaiting him. She extended her dainty gloved hand, and the lad, who had braced himself for the ordeal, had shed most of his awkwardness. The brother kept in the background, having been ordered to do so, but he amusedly watched the two from a distance, as did a good many others.

The prima donna conducted Mike straight to the grand saloon and sat down before the superb piano. Others sauntered into the room to listen and look and enjoy.

The frightened Mike hung back.

"Stand right here beside me," she said with pleasant imperiousness. "I will play the accompaniment while you sing 'Mavourneen.'"

"I'm that scared, me leddy, that I couldn't sing a word."

"Tut, tut—none of that. Come, try!" and she struck several notes on the instrument.

Mike's voice was a trifle uncertain at first, but she knew how to encourage him, and soon the tones rang out with the exquisite sweetness that had charmed the listeners the evening before. When with many doubts he finished, he was startled by a vigorous handclapping that caused him to look round. Fully fifty men and women had gathered without his suspecting it. He bowed and was turning to walk to a chair, when the lady stopped him.

"You are not through yet; I must test your voice further. Can you sing any other songs?"

"I have thried a few."

"Name them."

"I can't ricollect them at this moment, but there's 'Oft in the Stilly Night' and——"

"That will do; it is one of Tom Moore's prettiest. Are you ready?"

And the fast increasing audience applauded to the echo. Other pieces followed until the prima donna allowed him to rest. Then sitting down beside him, she said:

"As I told you last night, you have a fortune in your voice. If you can arrange to leave your feeble parents to the care of others, you can soon earn enough to keep them in comfort all their lives. If you can come to Boston or New York when I sing there, you must not fail to call on me and to attend the concert. Here is my card."

She had already written a few lines upon the pasteboard which made it an open sesame to the possessor to any and all of her concerts. Mike thanked her gratefully, and had to promise to come to see her again before the steamer reached New York, and to think over her proposal. He kept his promise so far as calling on her again, not once but several times before she bade him good-by on the pier.

But, as I have said, there was nothing in her plan that appealed to the Irish youth. The modest fellow never told of the occurrence to anyone, nor did he give it more than a passing thought in the weeks and months that followed. The brother of the prima donna imparted the particulars to his intimate friend Gideon Landon, the wealthy banker, and in this way I am able to relate the incident on shipboard.



CHAPTER XIV

"THE NIGHT SHALL BE FILLED WITH MUSIC"

The prima donna who grew so fond of Mike discovered several interesting facts about him, aside from his marvellous tenor voice. He had the talent of improvisation. When they became well enough acquainted for him to feel at ease in her presence, he sang bits of melody that were his own composition. She was delighted and encouraged him to cultivate the gift. Of course he knew nothing about playing any instrument, but under her instruction he quickly picked up the art of accompanying himself on the piano. The music which he sang was of the simplest nature and the chords suggested themselves to his ear.

Another peculiarity of the lad was that, despite his exuberant, rollicking nature, he had no taste for humorous music. When she asked him to sing a lively song, he shook his head. He not only knew none, but had no wish to learn any. His liking was for sentiment and tenderness of feeling. Moore's melodies were his favorites and he knew few others. At the last meeting of Mike and the lady she gave him a fragment of verse which she had cut from a paper and asked him to compose a melody for it. He promised to try.

With this rather lengthy explanation, and the fact that neither Alvin Landon nor Chester Haynes had ever heard him sing, though both had noticed that his voice was peculiarly clear, you will understand the surprise that awaited them when he walked to the piano and reluctantly sat down. The hoarseness which followed his shouting when marooned on White Islands was gone and his notes were as clear as a bell.

Every one expected a mirth-provoking song when he placed his foot on the pedal and his fingers touched the keys. Even Widow Friestone smiled in anticipation, while Alvin and Chester feared that in his ignorance of true singing his attempts would become comical to the last degree. The listeners glanced significantly to one another, while he was bringing out a few preliminary notes.

Suddenly into the room burst the most ravishing music from the sweetest voice they had ever heard.

"The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more."

With the same bewitching sweetness he sang the remaining stanza, and then paused with his fingers idly rambling over the keys, as if in doubt what next to do.

There was no applause. Not a person moved or seemed to breathe. Then Alvin and Chester looked wonderingly at each other, as if doubting their own senses. Whoever imagined that Mike Murphy was gifted with so wonderful a voice? It seemed as if they were dreaming and were waiting for the spell to lift.

It would have been affectation on the part of Mike to pretend he was ignorant of the effect he had produced. He had seen it too often in the past, and he knew the great songstress on the steamer would not have said what she did had there not been good basis therefor. So, without seeming to notice the hush—the most sincere tribute possible—he sang the old favorite "Mavourneen," and at its conclusion "Annie Laurie," with a liquidity of tone that was never surpassed by throat of nightingale.

At its conclusion he swung round on the stool, sprang up and dropped into the nearest chair, looking about as if doubtful of the reception that was to attend his efforts.

Nora was the first to rally. She uttered one ecstatic "Oh!" bounded across the floor, threw her dimpled arms about his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

"You darling! You sing like an angel!"

"Nothing could be sweeter," added the smiling mother. Mike gently kissed the girl on her forehead, and did not release her until she drew away.

"Ye're very kind. It's mesilf is glad me efforts seemed to plaise ye, though I'm in doubt as to the Captain and second mate."

Alvin walked silently across the floor and reached out his hand.

"Glad to know ye," replied Mike, with a grin, looking up in the face that had actually turned slightly pale. "What is yer name, plaise?"

Chester joined his chum.

"Mike, Alvin and I were silent, for we didn't know what to say. You have given us the surprise of our lives. I am no singer and never can be, but I would give a hundred thousand dollars, if I had it, for your voice. Alvin makes some pretensions. He is the leader of his school quartette, but he can't equal you."

"Equal him!" sniffed the Captain. "If Mike ever shows himself where our quartette is trying to sing, I shall make every one shut up to save ourselves from disgrace. As for Mike, we'll give him the choice to sing for us or to be killed."

Chester asked reprovingly:

"Why didn't you let us know about this before?"

"Ye didn't ask me, and what could be the difference if ye didn't find it out? Ye wouldn't have larned the same if Nora and her mither hadn't insisted that I should entertain them, as I tried to do."

"You are a queer make-up," replied Alvin, with a laugh.

"Since ye are the leader, Captain, of yer quartette at school, it's up to ye to obleege the company wid something in their line."

Nora added her entreaties.

"We know you can do very well, Alvin, though of course not half so well as Mike, for nobody can do that," was the naive argument of the miss.

"No, sir," said Alvin emphatically, and, assuming deep solemnity, he raised his hand. "I vow that I will never, never sing in Mike's presence. I can stand a joke as well as most persons, but that is the limit. Here's Chester, however. He will be glad to give Mike a few lessons."

The fun of it was that Chester could not sing the chromatic scale correctly if his life were at stake. He was not rattled by the request.

"Mike, can you play the accompaniment to 'Greenville'?" he asked.

"How does it go? Hum the same fur me so I can catch it."

Chester stood up and "hummed," but without the slightest resemblance to any tune that the others had ever heard.

"That gits me," commented Mike, "as Teddy O'Rourke said whin the p'liceman grabbed him. If ye'll sthrike in I'll do my best to keep wid ye."

"No, sir; I decline to play second fiddle to anyone," and Chester resumed his seat as if in high dudgeon.

At this moment Nora asked of Mike:

"Did you ever make up music for yourself?"

"I have tried once or twice, but didn't do much."

"Oh, please sing us something of your own."

"A leddy on the steamer that brought me over give me some printed words one day wid the requist that I should try to put some music to 'em. I furgot the same till after she had gone, but I'll make the effort if ye all won't be too hard on me."

(This was the only reference that Mike was ever heard to make to the incidents recorded in the previous chapter.)

And then the Irish lad sang "The Sweet Long Ago."



CHAPTER XV

A KNOCK AT THE DOOR

Alvin easily caught the swing of the bass and sang when the chorus was reached. Mike barely touched the keys, bringing out a few faint chords that could not add to the sweetness of his voice. Mrs. Friestone sat motionless, looking intently at him until he came to the last words. Then she abruptly took off her glasses and put her handkerchief to her eyes.

The sweet long ago! Again she saw the handsome, sturdy youth when he returned from the war for the defence of his country, as brave, as resolute, as aflame with patriotism as in his earlier years, but with frame wrenched by painful wounds. Their lives were inexpressibly happy from the time she became a bride, and their maturer age was blessed by the gift of darling Nora. Existence became one grand sweet dream—more happy, more radiant and more a foretaste of what awaited them all in the great beyond. That loved form had vanished in the sweet long ago, but the memory could never fade or grow dim.

It was the song that brought back the picture with a vividness it had not worn for many a year. The tears would come, and Nora, glancing at her mother, buried her face in her own handkerchief and sobbed. Alvin and Chester sat silent, and Mike, turning gently on the stool, looked sympathetically at mother and daughter.

"Thank you, Mike," came a soft, choking voice from behind the snowy bit of linen, and the brave lad winked rapidly and fought back the tears that crowded into his honest eyes.

It was not strange that the effect of Mike Murphy's beautiful singing of the touching songs brooded like a benison throughout the evening. Even Nora, when asked to favor them again, shook her head.

"Not after Mike," she replied, her eyes gleaming more brightly through the moisture not yet dried.

It was impossible for the Irish lad to restrain his humor, and soon he had them all smiling, but there was no loud laughter such as greeted his first sallies, and the conversation as a whole was soberer and more thoughtful. Alvin and Chester told of their school experiences, and finally Mike related his adventure when marooned on the lonely island well out toward the Atlantic and his friends found him after they had given him up as drowned.

So the evening wore away until, at a seasonable hour, the head of the household said that when they wished to retire she would show them to their room. Just then Mike had his hand over his mouth in the effort to repress a yawn. Nora laughingly pointed at him.

"In a few minutes he'll be asleep and will tumble off his chair."

"I'm afeard ye're right, as I replied to me tacher whin he obsarved that I was the biggest numskull in Tipperary County. Come, Captain and sicond mate—ye won't forgit, Miss Nora, that I'm first mate of the battleship Deerfut."

The girl went to the kitchen from which she speedily returned, carrying a hand lamp, which she gave to her mother. She nodded to the lads, who followed her to the door of the apartment assigned them for the night. They entered behind her as she set the light on the stand and turned about.

"I think you will find everything as you wish."

"It couldn't be itherwise, whin it's yersilf that has provided the same. Be that token, we're getting more than we desarve."

"Nothing could be finer," added Alvin, glancing round the lighted room. "It's as neat as a pin and we shall sleep the sleep of the just."

The three had noticed when in the parlor the portrait suspended in the place of honor. The blue uniform, the military cap resting on one knee, and the strong, expressive face told their own story. It was the picture of Captain Carter Friestone, taken many a year before, when in the flush of his patriotic young manhood. A smaller picture was on the wall of the bedroom of mother and daughter.

The chamber which the lads entered was graced with two small, inexpensive pictures of a religious character, a pretty rug covered most of the floor, the walls were tastefully papered and there were several chairs, to say nothing of the mirror, stand and other conveniences.

Not only was the broad bed with its snowy counterpane and downy pillows roomy enough for two, but a wide cot had been placed on the other side of the neat little room for whoever chose to sleep upon it.

That which caught the eye of the three was a musket leaning in the far corner. Chester stepped across, and asking permission of Mrs. Friestone, picked it up and brought it over to where the light was stronger. He saw it was a Springfield rifle, but the lock and base of the barrel were torn into gaping rents.

"I suppose this belonged to the captain," said Chester inquiringly. The widow nodded her head.

"And it did good service—that is certain," added Chester, with his companions beside him scrutinizing the weapon. "But it seems to have been injured."

She smiled faintly.

"Carter brought it home from the war, declaring it was better than when new. He put a double charge in one Fourth of July morning, forgetting that the weapon was much worn from many previous firings. It exploded at the lock and came very near killing him. But," she added, with a sigh, "it is very precious to me."

"I am sure of that," said Chester as he reverently carried the gun back to the corner.

The good woman kissed each lad on the forehead. When she thus saluted Mike, who was the last, she placed her thin hand on his head, and said with infinite tenderness:

"I thank you for what you did to-night."

"I beg ye don't mintion it——"

Mike stopped abruptly, and pretending to see something interesting in the old rifle, hurried across the room to examine it more closely.

"Good night and pleasant dreams," called the lady as she passed out, noiselessly closing the door behind her.

It having been agreed that Mike should use the cot, the three prepared for retiring, the mind of each full of the experience of the evening. Both Alvin and Chester wished to speak of the extraordinary voice of Mike, but neither did, for they knew he would prefer they should not. He could not help knowing how greatly he had been favored by nature, and disliked any reminder.

The wick of the lamp was turned down and blown out by Alvin, after glancing around and noting that his companions were ready. Through the raised window, opening over a broad alley, the cool wind stole. It so came about that for several days and nights, including the one of which I am now speaking, the leading cities of the country, embracing even Boston, were suffering from one of the most intense heat waves that ever swept like a furnace blast over most of the States in the Union. But in favored southern Maine it was ideally cool. You could stand a thin covering at night, or you could cast it aside. You were equally comfortable in either situation.

Our young friends ought to have sunk into a sound sleep within a few minutes after lying down, but they did not. Something was on their minds, and the singular fact of it was that the thoughts of each were identically the same, though as yet not a hint had been dropped by anyone.

It was Mike who abruptly spoke:

"I say, Captain, are ye aslaap?"

"I ought to be, but I was never wider awake."

"How about the second mate?"

"The same here," was the reply from that individual.

"I wish to obsarve that I'm engaged just now in thinking, byes."

"Thinking of what?" asked Alvin.

"'Spose them post office robbers should pay this place a visit."

"What in the world put that in your head?"

"Didn't the same thought come to ye, Captain?"

"I must admit it did."

"And how is it with the second mate?"

"It has troubled me, too, Mike."

"But I can see no real cause for misgiving," added Alvin.

"We know the Water Witch is somewhere in the neighborhood," remarked Chester, to which his chum replied:

"What could attract them to a small office like this? They hunt for bigger game."

"There's a good lot of money in the safe downstairs," said Mike. "'Twas mesilf that obsarved one of the leddy's callers gave her twinty-five hundred dollars, which she put away. Where could the spalpeens make a bigger haul?"

"But how should they know about it? They didn't see it done," said Alvin.

"Hist, now! From what me eyes told me, the same being anither chap called and would have lift more, had he not been afeard of me eagle eye that was on him."

"What of that?"

"Doesn't it show that it's the practice in Beartown wid some of them as has lots of money to lave the same wid the leddy? Thim chaps are prying round and it would be aisy fur 'em to larn the fact."

"We should have seen something of them if they were in this village."

Alvin felt the weakness of this statement, for such unwelcome visitors would be too shrewd to expose themselves to discovery when it was possible to avoid it. All three might have been in Beartown for hours without drawing attention to themselves and without giving Mike, during his earlier visit, a glimpse of them.

Speculating in this manner, Alvin and Mike came to the belief, or rather hope, that their good friend was in no danger of a burglarious visit. Chester would not be convinced, but expressed the hope that they were right.

"I shall make bold to remind Mrs. Friestone in the morning of the risk she runs and advise her to cease accepting any outside deposits."

Chester was the last to fall asleep. It was a long time before he sank into slumber, but by and by he glided into the realm of dreams. He had no means of knowing how long he lay unconscious, when he gradually became aware of a peculiar tapping somewhere near. A moment's listening told him that someone was knocking on the door.



CHAPTER XVI

VISITORS OF THE NIGHT

Chester bounded out of bed and hunted to the door, which he unlocked and opened for a few inches. He could see nothing in the gloom, and asked in a whisper:

"Who is it?"

"It is I—Nora. Mamma and I are awfully scared."

"What's the matter?"

"Somebody is in the store downstairs."

"How do you know that?"

"Mamma heard the window raised and woke me. She asked me to call you boys."

"Wait a moment and we'll be with you."

It showed how lightly Alvin and Mike were sleeping when they were instantly roused by the slight noise made in opening the door. Each sat on the side of his couch and listened. In the deep silence they heard the snatch of conversation and hurriedly began putting on their clothes. They wrought silently and without lighting the lamp.

"I expected it," remarked Chester, imitating them.

Mrs. Friestone joined her daughter in the dark hall, she being too wise to use a light. A moment later the whole party stood together in the gloom, where neither could see the face of the others.

"Hark!" whispered the mother.

The five stood for a minute without stirring or speaking and hardly breathing. Not the slightest sound reached their ears. Then Chester asked in a guarded undertone:

"Are you sure you were not mistaken, Mrs. Friestone?"

"I could not have been; the sound of the raising of the window was too distinct for me to be deceived—hark!" she warned again.

This time all heard something. It was a faint, rasping noise such as might have been caused by the cautious pushing of a box or large smooth object over the floor. If this were so, the article could not have been moved more than a few inches, for the sound ceased immediately.

"You are right," said Alvin; "you have visitors. About what time do you suppose it is?"

"The clock struck twelve quite awhile ago. There! it is now one," she added as a silvery tinkle came from the parlor.

"What shall we do?" asked Nora, echoing the question that was in the mind of every one.

And then a strange council was held in a place so dark that all who took part were mutually invisible.

It would seem that the common sense course was to make a noise that would be heard by the burglars and would scare them off. That is to say that theoretically this would occur, but it might not. Knowing how much loot was within their reach, if not already in hand, one or two of them were likely to hurry upstairs and compel those that were there to hold their peace, hesitating at no violence to enforce their orders.

While the boys were eager to take the risk, the mother would not agree and the plan had to be abandoned.

The next proposal was for each to thrust his or her head out of a window and call for help. The cry would rouse the village and it would not take long for many citizens to rush thither. Beartown had no police force, the only officer of the peace being a constable who was lame and cross-eyed and lived at the farthest end of the village. No dependence could be placed on him, but there were plenty of others who would gladly hasten to the help of mother and daughter.

This was the only thing to do, and it would have been done but for the hysterical opposition of Nora Friestone. She declared that the dreadful robbers—she was sure of it—would hurry upstairs the instant the first scream was made and kill every one before any help could arrive! It might not take more than five or ten minutes for friends to run to the spot, but that would be enough for the burglars to complete their awful work.

Possibly the girl might have been argued out of her absurd fear had she not won her mother to her side. She took the same view.

"What then is to be done?" asked Chester a trifle impatiently.

"Nothing; they can't get the safe open, if they work till daylight."

"They can do it in a few minutes if they use dynamite, and at the same time blow out the whole end of your house."

To this terrifying declaration the lady could make no reply except to say:

"We may as well go back to our rooms."

It was on the point of Chester's tongue to ask in view of this conclusion why Nora had knocked on their door, but he thought best to refrain.

"Whisht!" whispered Mike; "let's go to the parlor, where we have the moonlight to help us."

Walking on tiptoe and as silent as so many cats, the party moved through the hall to the front room. The straining ears heard nothing more from below stairs, though there could be no doubt that their visitors were still there.

As Mike had intimated, the round, clear moon was in the sky, and looking from the windows it seemed almost as bright as day. The party stood just far enough back to be invisible to anyone in the street below. A row of elms lined each side of the highway, being mutually separated by a dozen yards or so. They were small, having been set out only a few years before, but were in full foliage and the most remote ones cast a shadow into the highway. On the same side of what was the main street, each frame house that served for a dwelling had a yard, shrubbery and flowers in front. Farther to the left was the small grocery store, while to the right on the same side as the post office was the pert little village church to which reference has already been made.

At this hour all Beartown seemed to be sunk in slumber, as was quite proper should be the case. From not a single window twinkled a light nor was man, woman or boy seen on the street. A solitary dog, with nose down and travelling diagonally as canines sometimes do, trotted to the front gate of the house opposite the post office, jumped over and passed from view to the rear.

"I wonder what that man is waiting there for."

It was Nora who whispered this question, which instantly put the others on the qui vive.

"I don't see any man; where is he?" asked Chester.

"Under that tree opposite; he's in plain sight."

Such was the fact now that she had directed attention to him. The elm was directly across the street, and had a trunk not more than six or eight inches in diameter. A man was standing motionless under the dense foliage several feet above his head, doing nothing except simply to stand there.

"He is the lookout," said Chester.

"What's a lookout?" asked the nervous Nora.

"He is there to watch for danger that may threaten the others who are inside and working at your mother's safe. If he sees anything wrong he will give a signal, probably by means of a whistle, and the fellows below will run."

"Why couldn't you give the signal?"

"I could if I knew what it is, but I don't."

"Look! he is coming over here!" exclaimed the affrighted Nora, as the man stepped from the shadow, walked half way across the street, and then halted as if in doubt whether to advance farther.

"No fear of his visiting us," Alvin assured her; "but it is best to keep out of sight."

All shrank still farther back, when there was no possibility of being seen in the first place. The man did not look up, but kept his slouch hat pulled so far down that nothing of his face was visible. He held his position for perhaps five minutes, when he turned about and went back to his post. There could be no doubt that he was the lookout of the gang, as Chester had said when he was first noticed. Not once did he look up before reaching his place, so that none of our friends caught a glimpse of his features.

What a unique situation! One or more burglars were at work on the safe below stairs, and there were five persons on the floor above who knew it, but did not raise voice or a hand to interfere with them. It has been explained why, though it should be added that in the way of firearms there was only the single worthless Springfield rifle in the house. It was mother and daughter who held the three lads supine. Had they been left free they would have acted immediately on first learning of the presence of the criminals.

Chester had spoken the word "dynamite," and it was that terrific explosive which he and his companions dreaded unspeakably. If the charge were fired, it would not only blow the massive safe apart, but was likely to wreck the building itself and probably inflict death to more than one in the dwelling.

Mike Murphy chafed more than his comrades. Reflecting on the exasperating state of affairs, he determined to do something despite the opposition of the mother and daughter. A few minutes' thought suggested a plan. He would have revealed it to Alvin and Chester, but feared they would prevent action or that his whispering in the darkness of the room would awaken the suspicion of the other two.

Only when near the front windows could the members of the party dimly see one another. They had withdrawn so far at sight of the approach of the man on guard that the light ill served them. Mike stealthily retreated to the open door leading into the hall. Neither of his comrades heard him, and he groped along the passage, with hands outstretched on each side to guide him. The feet were lifted and set down without noise, and by and by he came to the opening leading to the bedroom. Across this he made his way with the same noiseless stealth, until the groping hand touched the battered rifle, which he lifted from its resting place. Back into the hall again, and then through the dining room, inch by inch, to where he remembered seeing the head of the stairs, though he knew nothing beyond that. He would have struck a match but for fear of attracting the notice of those below.

"I've only to feel each step," he reflected, "and I'll soon arrive, and then won't fur of the spalpeens fly?"

His unfamiliarity with the stairs made him think they were not so nearly perpendicular as was the fact. While the thought was in his mind, he made a misstep and, unable to check himself, went bumping all the way to the bottom.



CHAPTER XVII

"TALL OAKS FROM LITTLE ACORNS GROW"

If you wish an illustration of how great events often flow from trifling causes read what follows. It is one of the many events which prove that "tall oaks from little acorns grow."

You have not forgotten Jim, the gawky, overgrown boy who had a verbal contract with Mrs. Friestone which bound him to go to the store each weekday morning and set out on the front porch the score or more samples of the goods that were on sale within. The same agreement required him to come around at dusk each evening and carry them inside, his weekly wage for such duty being twenty-five cents. When, therefore, Mike Murphy handed him a silver quarter and assumed the job for that single night, Jim received a whole week's pay for turning it over to the Irish lad. It is not so strange that the youngster was confused at first over his bit of luck, which he did not fully understand until he reached home and had eaten his supper.

Now by one of those curious coincidences which occur oftener in this life than most people think, that day was the anniversary of Jim's birth. Being a good boy, as such things go, his father presented him with a fine pocketknife, than which nothing could have pleased his son better. It was really an excellent article, having four blades, one of which was a file, two of small size, and one quite large, the three being almost as keen-edged as a razor. Straightway the happy lad selected his right hand trousers pocket as the home of the knife when not in use. The miscellaneous articles, such as a jewsharp, a piece of twine, a key, three coppers, a piece of resin, several marbles, two ten-penny nails, a stub of a lead pencil and a few other things were shifted to the left side repository, where also he deposited the shining silver coin, after showing it to his parents and telling them how he fell heir to it.

The chat of the family shut out reference to the knife for most of the evening. Both parents were inclined to be gossipy, and they indulged in many guesses as to the identity of the donor and what caused him to be so liberal. The mother's first thought was that the red-haired, freckle-faced youth was a newcomer to Beartown, and had secured Jim's job, but that fear was removed by Jim's declaration that the stranger distinctly said he intended to do the work only for that evening.

It was not very late when Jim went to his bedroom on the second floor to retire for the night. When ready to disrobe, he took out the wealth of treasures in his left pocket, including the bright quarter, and shoved his hand into the other for the prize that outweighed them all. Then he emitted a gasp of dismay: the pocket was empty!

For a few moments he could not believe the truth. He frantically searched his clothing over and over again, but in vain. The explanation was as clear as noonday. In the bottom of his right-hand pocket was a gaping rent, through which he pushed two fingers and disgustedly spread them apart like a fan. He turned the cloth wrong side out and the dreadful yawn seemed to grin at him.

Weak and faint he sat down on the edge of his trundle bed.

"What made that blamed hole? It wasn't there a little while ago. It must have wored the hole while I was walking. I wouldn't lose that knife for ten million dollars. It can't be lost!"

And then he repeated the search, as almost anyone will do in similar circumstances. He even looked under the jewsharp and among the marbles on the stand, where a mosquito could not have hidden itself.

"Oh, what's the use!" he exclaimed, dropping down again despairingly on the bed. "It's lost! Where did I lose it?"

Pulling himself together, he recalled the experiences of the day, from the time he received the present directly after breakfast. He had tested the implement many times in the course of the forenoon and afternoon, and by and by remembered snapping the big blade shut and slipping it into his pocket as he was going out of the house to the post office to perform his daily task. He reasoned well.

"I lost it somewhere atween here and the store. I can't see how it slipped down my trousers leg without me feeling it, but that's what it done. It's a-laying on the ground atween here and there, onless," he added, with a catch of his breath, "that ugly looking willain seen me drop it inside the store. I wonder if he give me that quarter so as to hurry me out that he might git my knife!"

He shivered at the probability, but rather singularly the dread was dissipated by a few minutes more of thought.

"If he'd seen it, so would Nora and she'd told me. It's somewhere along the street."

Such being his conclusion, the all-important question was what should he do to retrieve his crushing loss. His first inclination was to tell his parents and then hurry back over the route to look for the treasure. But it was night. There was no such thing as a lantern in the house, he could not carry an ordinary light in the breeze, and the search would be hopeless.

"I'll get up as soon as it is light," he said, "and hunt till I find it."

Trying to gain hope from this decision, he knelt at the side of his bed to say his prayers, which he never omitted. His petition was longer than usual and I need not tell you what its chief if not its whole burden was.

Despite the depressing weight upon his spirits, Jim fell asleep and remained so for several hours, though his slumber was tortured by dreams of his knife. Sometimes it was tiny as a pin and then bigger than himself, but it always slipped from his grasp when he reached out to seize it.

Suddenly he awoke. It took a minute or two to recall his situation, but soon the startling truth came back to him. He had lost his knife, and, remembering his resolve before going to sleep, he bounded out of bed, certain that day not only had dawned but that it had been light for some time. He soon discovered, however, that what he took for the glow of the rising sun came from the moon, whose vivid illumination made the mistake natural.

"I never seen it so bright," he said, stepping to the window and peering out.

And then as if by inspiration he whispered:

"It's the right time to hunt for my knife."

He did not know what time it was nor did he care to know. There was so much moongleam in his room that he easily dressed without any artificial light. Then, too, the night was mild and his covering scanty. Shirt and trousers were his only garments. He left his straw hat where he had "hung" it on the floor in one corner beside his shoes and stockings. The chief cause for now going barefoot was that his steps would be lighter, though as a rule he saved his shoes for Sunday and his trips to and from the store.

He knew his father was a light sleeper, and if awakened would probably forbid him to go out before morning. So Jim opened his bedroom door so softly that not the slightest noise was caused. He went down the stairs as if he were a real burglar in rubber shoes. He stopped several times with a faster beating heart, for although he had never known the steps to squeak before they now did so with such loudness that he was sure his father heard him. But the snoring continued unbroken and Jim reached the door, where he stealthily slid back the bolt and reversed the key, without causing any betraying sound.

This side of the house was in shadow, and he stood for a minute or two on the small, covered porch looking out upon the highway or main street. Not a soul was in sight, nor did he see a twinkle of light from any of the windows. It cannot be said that Jim felt any fear, nor did he reflect upon the risk caused by leaving the door unlocked behind him. He was thinking only of that loved knife.

He had walked to and from the store so many times that he knew every step taken earlier in the evening. It was impossible to go wrong, and he was quite confident of finding the knife unless the brilliant moonlight had disclosed it to some late passerby.

Jim always crossed the street at a certain point, the post office being on the other side, so he trod in his own footsteps, which would have worn a path long before but for those of others, including horses and wagons. He walked slowly, scanning every inch of the ground and clay pavement in front of him, but when he drew near the well-remembered building he had not caught sight of the prize. He was within a few paces of the steps of the porch of the store, when he was suddenly startled by a gruff voice:

"Hello, there! Where you going?"

He turned his head as a man stepped from under the small elm behind him. Both being on the same level the slouch hat only partially hid the grim face and big mustache. Jim would have been more scared had he not caught sight an instant before of his knife lying at the foot of the steps of the porch. He sprang forward, caught it up and then faced the stranger, who had stepped into the street.

"I'm looking fur my knife that I dropped and I've found it too!" he replied gleefully, holding up the cool, shiny implement. "Gee! aint I lucky?"

"Well, you get out of here as quick as you can. Go back home and stay there till morning. Do ye hear me?"

"Yaws; I'm going."

A strange discovery had come to Jim the instant before. As he stooped to seize his property, his eyes were at the same height as the bottom of the door leading into the store. It was only for a second or two, but in that brief space he saw a faint glimmer through the crevice, which he knew was caused by a light within. With a shrewdness that no one would have expected from him he said nothing of his discovery to the man who had accosted him.

"Mind what I told you!" added the stranger, "and don't show your nose outside your house before morning. Understand?"

"Yaws; I don't want to, 'cause I've got my knife. Hooray!"

"Shut up! Off with you!"

"Yaws;" and Jim broke into a trot which he kept up until he reached his own porch. In his exuberance of spirits, he was careless and awoke his father. He came into the hall and roared out a demand for an explanation, which his son gave in a few hurried words.

"Hooh!" exclaimed his parent; "there's robbers in the post office and I think I'll take a hand as soon as I can get hold of my shotgun."

Which may serve to explain how it was that Gerald Buxton became involved in the incidents that speedily followed.



CHAPTER XVIII

A CLEVER TRICK

At the foot of the rear stairs in the home of Widow Friestone was an ordinary door latched at night, but without any lock. When Mike Murphy was groping about in the blank darkness, where nothing was familiar, he did not know, as has been said, of the steepness of the steps. Thus he placed his shoe upon vacancy, and, unable to check himself, bumped to the bottom, striking every step on the route, and banging against the door with such force that the latch gave away, it flew open, and he sprawled on his hands and knees, still grasping the rifle with which he had set out to hunt for burglars. He was not hurt, and bounded like a rubber ball to his feet.

An amazing scene confronted him. A young man, his face covered with a mask, had just drawn back the ponderous door of the safe, and by the light of a small dark lantern in his left hand was trying to unlock one of the inner compartments, with a bunch of small keys held in his right. It was at this instant that the racket followed by the crash which burst open the door paralyzed him for the moment. He straightened up and stared through the holes of his mask at the apparition that had descended upon him like a thunderbolt, in helpless amazement.

If he was terrified, Mike Murphy was not. Forgetful of his shillaleh in the shape of the Springfield, he made a leap at the fellow.

"S'render, ye spalpeen!" he shouted. The criminal answered by viciously hurling the lantern into the face of his assailant, and in the act, the mask somehow or other was disarranged and slipped from its place. It was only a passing glimpse that Mike caught of him, but it identified him as one of the young men who had attacked Alvin Landon some nights before while passing through the stretch of woods near his home.

The throwing of the lamp was the best thing the burglar could have done, for it caught the Irish youth fairly between the eyes and dazed him for an invaluable second or two. Instant to seize his advantage, the criminal made a leap through the rear window, which he had left open for that purpose, and sped like a deer across the back yard of the premises. Mike was at his heels and shouted:

"Stop! stop! or I'll blow ye into smithereens! I've got a double barreled cannon wid me, and if ye want to save yer life, s'render before I touch her off!"

Perhaps if the fugitive had not been in so wild a panic he would have given himself up, for no man willingly invites the discharge of a deadly weapon a few paces behind him. But the youth was bent on escape if the feat were possible and ran with the vigor of desperation.

Less than a hundred yards over the garden beds and grass took the fellow to the paling boundary over which he leaped like a greyhound. Mike would have done the same, but feared it was too much for him. Moreover, his short legs could not carry him as fast as those of the fleeing one. The pursuer rested a hand on the palings and went over without trouble. By that time the fugitive was a goodly distance off in the act of clearing a second fence. In dread lest he should get away, Mike called:

"Have sinse, ye lunkhead! I don't want to kill ye, but hanged if I don't, if ye fail to lay down yer arms."

The appeal like all that had preceded it was unheeded. The burglar must have taken heart from the fact that his pursuer had already held his fire so long. Running with unusual speed, he took advantage of the shadow offered by several back buildings and continued steadily to gain. When he made a quick turn and whisked out of sight, the exasperated Mike dropped to a rapid walk.

"Arrah, now, if this owld gun was only in shape! there wouldn't be any sich race as this, as Brian O'Donovan said—phwat's that?"

When within twenty feet of a small barn, a burly man stepped out of the gloom and with a large gun levelled gruffly commanded:

"Throw up your arms or I'll let moonlight through you!"

"I don't see any room for argyment, as Jed Mitchell said whin——"

"Up with your hands! and drop that gun!" thundered the other, and Mike let the old rifle fall to his feet and reached up as if trying to hold the moon in place. Which incident requires an explanation.

Gerald Buxton, the father of Jim, had no sooner heard the story of his boy than he decided, as had been related, that something was wrong at the post office. He had read of the many robberies in southern Maine during the preceding summer, else he might not have been so quick to reach a conclusion. He woke his wife, told her his belief and then took down his shotgun from over the deer's antlers in the kitchen. Both barrels were always loaded, but to make sure of no lack of ammunition, he put a number of extra shells loaded with heavy shot into his pockets.

"Remember," he said impressively to his son, "to stay home and not show your nose outside the door while I'm gone."

"Yaws, sir," meekly replied Jim, who three minutes later, unseen by his mother, sneaked out of the back door and reached the battlefield directly behind his parent.

Mr. Buxton had never had any experience with house breakers, and did some quick thinking from the moment he left his front gate until he arrived on the scene. Nothing seemed more natural than that the ruffians would not approach the house from the front, but by the rear. The light which Jim saw must have come from the back part of the store. For the gang to make their entrance from the main street would have been far more dangerous.

Because of this theory, Mr. Buxton crossed the road directly before his own house, passed through the alley of a neighbor, and followed a circuitous course which compelled him to climb several back fences. But he knew all the people, and in case he was questioned could readily explain matters.

So in due time he came to the barn of one of his friends, and had turned to pass around it when to his astonishment a man dashed toward him on a dead run. Buxton was alert, and pointing his weapon, crisply commanded:

"Stop or I'll fire!"

The panting fellow obeyed with the exclamation:

"I'm so glad!"

"Glad of what?"

"That you came as you did. There are burglars in the post office!"

"That's what I thought, but wasn't sure. Who are you and why are you in such an all-fired hurry?"

"One of them is chasing me. I tried to wake the postmistress, when he heard me and I had to run for my life. How thankful I am that you appeared just in time!"

"Where is the scandalous villain?" demanded Mr. Buxton, glancing on all sides.

"He will be here in a minute."

"I shan't wait for him; tell me where he is."

The fugitive, who was momentarily expecting the appearance of his pursuer, pointed to the barn around which he had just dashed.

"He is coming from there. Look out, or he'll shoot you!"

"I'm ready for him," exclaimed the angered citizen as he hurriedly trotted off and confronted Mike Murphy a few seconds later.

We have learned of the pointed conversation which passed between them. Mike's first thought was that it was one of the robbers who had held him up, but there was no gainsaying the argument brought to bear against him. He remained with hands uplifted, awaiting the will of his captor.

"So you're one of those post office robbers," said Mr. Buxton, partly lowering his weapon.

"Not that I know of," replied Mike, beginning to scent the truth.

"Have you a pistol?"

"The only deadly wippon I have is me pocketknife, with its two blades broke and the handle being lost some time since."

"Where is the rest of your gang?" demanded the man, stepping closer to the youth.

"The two frinds that I have are wid the widder Mrs. Friestone, doing their best to entertain the leddy and her daughter, while I started out to chase one of the spalpeens that run too fast for me to catch."

Mr. Buxton stepped still nearer. He was becoming doubtful.

"Who the mischief are you, anyway?"

"Mike Murphy, born in Tipperary, in the County of Tipperary, Ireland, and lately, arrove in Ameriky."

"What are you doing here?"

"Standing still for the time, as Pat Mulrooney said whin the byes tied him to the gate post and wint off and left him."

"Ain't you one of those post office robbers?"

The question told Mike the whole truth. It was a clever trick that had been played upon him, and his musical laugh rang out on the still night.

"What made ye have that opinion?"

"I just met a young chap the other side of this barn, and when I stopped him he said he was running away from an enemy."

"Which the same was the thruth."

"And that one of the gang was chasing him, meaning to shoot him."

"It's mesilf that would have shot if I'd had a gun wid a conscience, fur I catched the spalpeen when he was opening the safe of Widder Friestone, and I made after him; but most persons can run faster than mesilf, owing to me short legs, and he was laving me behind, whin ye interfared."

"Do you mean to tell me that first fellow was one of the burglars?" asked the astounded Mr. Buxton.

"As sure as ye are standing there admiring me looks."

"Confound the rapscallion! I'll get him yet!" and the irate citizen dashed off with the resolution, to put it mildly, of correcting the error he had made.



CHAPTER XIX

IN THE NICK OF TIME

Standing in the darkness of the upper front room, stealthily watching the mysterious stranger on the other side of the street in the shadow of the elm, and knowing that burglars were at work below stairs—the nerves of mother and daughter and of Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes were on edge. Had they peered out of the window less than half an hour earlier they would have seen the meeting between the lookout and young Jim Buxton.

Mike Murphy had slipped so silently from among them that no one was aware of his absence when the bumping and crash at the rear were followed by exclamations and words that were not intelligible. Mrs. Friestone uttered a faint cry and sank back on her chair. Nora screamed and threw her arms about her mother's neck.

"They will kill us! What shall we do?" she wailed.

For the moment Alvin and Chester, startled almost as much as their friends, were mystified. When Chester said:

"That sounds like Mike's voice. Hello, Mike, are you here with us?"

The failure to receive a reply proved that Chester was right. Their comrade had stolen off and was already in a "shindy" at the rear of the store.

"He may need our help!" called Alvin, starting for the stairs, with his chum at his heels. But Nora, who had heard the unguarded words, called in wild distress:

"Don't leave us! Don't leave us!"

They stopped irresolute. They could not abandon the two, and yet Mike's life might be in peril.

"Go back to them," whispered Chester. "There's no call for both of us to stay."

"Better not go down yourself; you know you have no weapon. Let's take a look."

First of all it was necessary to quiet the daughter and mother, for one was as much terrified as the other. Alvin hastened into the room.

"We will not leave you," he said, "but we wish to see what we can from the kitchen window."

"Oh, you may fall out," moaned Nora, scarcely responsible for what she said. Even in the crisis of a tragedy a vein of comedy will sometimes intrude itself.

"Have no fear of that," replied Alvin. "I will hold Chester from tumbling out and he will do the same for me. Pray, compose yourselves."

During this brief absence Chester had threaded his way past the furniture in the darkness to the window, out of which he was gazing on a most interesting moving picture which had vanished when Alvin appeared at his elbow.

"It made my blood tingle," said Chester. "I was just in time to see a man, who must have leaped out, running for life with Mike in pursuit. He had that old gun in one hand—as if it could prove of any earthly use to him."

"Where are they now?"

"The fellow, after leaping the fence, turned to the right and disappeared among the shadows."

"With Mike still chasing him?"

"As hard as he could run, but you know he hasn't much speed."

"I wonder," whispered Alvin, "whether there are any more of them downstairs."

They stepped noiselessly to the head of the steps and listened. Everything was so quiet that they heard the ticking of the clock on the wall of the store.

"I don't believe anyone is there. Let's take a closer look."

Alvin struck a match from his safe and led the way, thus saving the two from the mishap that had overtaken their friend. They were a trifle nervous when they stepped upon the lower floor, Alvin maintaining the illumination by burning more matches. He climbed upon the counter, and lighted the large oil lamp suspended there for such purpose. Adjusting the wick to the highest point it would stand without smoking, the two looked around.

What they saw completed the story that had already taken shape in their own minds. The unbroken dark lantern lay on the floor where it had fallen, the light having been extinguished. The raised window showed by what avenue the burglar and Mike had left the building, but what amazed the youths more than anything else was the wide open door of the safe. Not a burglar's tool or device was in sight, and the appearance of the lock and door without a scratch showing proved that no part of the structure had been tampered with. It was just as if Mrs. Friestone had manipulated it—as she had done times without number.

"Whoever opened it must have known the combination. And how did he learn it?"

Chester shook his head.

"Perhaps Mrs. Friestone can guess. I'll ask her."

Going to the foot of the stairs, the young man called to the woman just loudly enough for her to hear. He said the visitors had left, but the door of the safe was open and it was advisable for her to come down and take a look at things.

She timidly came down the steps, with Nora tremblingly clinging to her skirts, ready to scream and dash back to the front of the house on the first appearance of danger. But nothing occurred to cause new alarm, and mother and daughter stared wonderingly at the safe with its wide open door.

"Who did that?" asked the woman, in a faint voice.

"One of the burglars," replied Chester.

"How did he learn the combination?"

"That's the mystery; Alvin and I cannot guess. Was it known to anyone besides yourself?"

"No; I changed it two days ago and did not even tell Nora. Not another soul knew it—and look!"

She pointed to a bunch of keys, one of which was inserted in the lock of the middle small drawer, with a half dozen others dangling from the metal ring. It will be understood that while the door of the safe was opened by means of a usual combination of numbers, the interior was guarded by only a tiny lock and key. This was more convenient, for, when the massive door was drawn back, the little wooden drawers, even with a combination, would not avail long against a burglar.

"They have taken the money!" gasped the widow.

"Let us see."

As Alvin spoke, he turned the key. The lock clicked and he drew out the drawer. There lay the big sealed envelope with the two thousand five hundred dollars intact within, while the stamps and cash receipts of the day were neatly piled on the shelf beneath.

The astonishing truth was that the criminal had been interrupted at the critical moment when he had succeeded in fitting a key to the lock. Had Mike Murphy been the fraction of a minute later in bursting upon the scene, he would have been too late. The robber would have carried off nearly three thousand dollars.

"That's what I call the greatest luck that ever happened," said Chester.

The discovery was as cheering as amazing. The large amount of money had been saved by a hair's breadth. The woman clasped her hands in thankfulness. Chester slowly shoved the steel door shut.

"Now try the combination," he said to Mrs. Friestone. "Chester and I will turn our backs while you do so."

"And why will you do that?"

"So that we shall not learn the secret. If anything like this happens again, you cannot say we did it."

She saw the smile on his face and knew he spoke in jest.

"It may be the lock was broken in some way," suggested Chester.

But it worked perfectly. The knob was turned forward till the finger pointed to a number, then back and then forward again to another numeral. It moved as smoothly as if the delicate mechanism was oiled.

"Now open it," she said to the lads, her spirits rallying over her good fortune. They shook their heads and Chester said:

"We might succeed, and that would be suspicious."

"Whether you noticed the combination or not, you surely did not know what it was a little while ago. I acquit you of having any understanding with the burglars."

"What's become of Mike?" asked Nora plaintively, speaking for the first time. "I'm afraid something dreadful has happened to him."

"He is probably still chasing the bad man," said Chester.

As if in answer to her wail a hasty tread was heard at that moment and a bushy red head without a cap appeared at the window, as if flung thither by the hand of a giant. The bright light within the door told him the story.

"The top of the morning to ye all, for I jedge it's near morning, as Tim Mulligan said after he had been slaaping fur two days and nights. I hope ye are all well."

He began climbing through and was half inside when Nora dashed forward and caught hold of his arm. It so disarranged his balance that he tumbled on the floor, the rifle falling from his grasp.

"I'm so glad to see you, Mike! I was afraid those awful people had killed you," said the happy girl. "Are you hurt?"

"Not worth speaking of; I think my neck is broke and me lift leg fractured in two places, but niver mind."

Then the exuberant youth told his story, to which his friends listened with breathless interest.

"Then you didn't catch the villain?" said Chester inquiringly.

"No, but I made it hot fur him, as me cousin said after chasing the expriss train a couple of miles. He has longer legs than mesilf. The next time I engage in a chase wid him I'll make sure his legs is sawed off at the knees, so as to give me a chance. If I had thought to have that done I'd brought the spalpeen back to ye."

"Well, you drove him off in the nick of time. He didn't get away with a penny," said Alvin.

"But what was the maans he used to open that door? That's what gits me—whisht!"

The report of a gun rang out on the stillness, and the friends stared at one another. Before anyone could venture an explanation, the sound of hurried footsteps told that someone was approaching.



CHAPTER XX

"I PIPED AND YE DANCED"

Gerald Buxton was boiling over with indignation when he parted company with Mike Murphy and realized how he had been tricked. He had allowed the real burglar to get away while he held up his innocent pursuer.

"All I ask is one sight of that villain!" he muttered, striking into a lope which carried him rapidly over the ground. Since the fugitive had disappeared several minutes before and there was no telling what course he had taken, it would seem there was not one chance in a hundred of Buxton ever seeing him again.

But, although the citizen had been cleverly hoodwinked, he used shrewdness in wrestling with the problem. As he viewed it, the fellow was likely to make for the stretch of woods between Beartown and the river, that he might screen himself as quickly as possible. He would lose no time in getting away from the village as soon as he could. It was quite probable that he and his gang had come up or down the river and had a launch awaiting them. To avoid going astray, he would use the highway which joined Beartown and the landing.

Mr. Buxton had to climb three fences before he reached an open field of slight extent, beyond which lay the woods. He knew the chances of overtaking the criminal were meagre, but with a thrill of delight he caught sight of his man only a little way in front and walking in the same direction with himself. He seemed to have sprung from the ground, and it was clear that he had no thought of further pursuit. His follower tried to get nearer to him before he reached the woods, but the fellow heard him and glancing over his shoulder broke into a run.

"Stop or I'll fire!" shouted Buxton.

After the young man's experience with his first pursuer and his Springfield, he could not be blamed for refusing to heed the command. He ran the faster and the next minute would have whisked beyond reach, had not Buxton come to an abrupt halt, and taking a quick aim, fired.

He got his man too. With a cry of pain he leaped several feet in the air and fell. Terrified by what he had done, Buxton ran forward, gun in hand, and called out while several paces distant:

"Are you hurt bad?"

"I'm done for," was the reply as the wounded fellow laboriously climbed to his feet.

With anger turned into sympathy, the captor asked:

"Where did I hit you?"

"You shattered my right leg," was the reply, accompanied by groans as the fellow with excruciating effort tried to support himself on the other limb.

Buxton laid down his weapon and knelt to examine the wound. He saw now that the lower part of the trousers leg was shredded by the charge of shot and that, doubtless, the hurt was a very grievous one.

"I'm sorry I gave it to you so bad, but you can't deny you desarved it. If you're able to walk back to my house, with my help, I'll get a doctor and we'll soon——"

At that instant the young man sprang back a couple of paces, and the startled Buxton looking up saw that he stood firmly on both feet, with the shotgun pointed at him. He had snatched up the weapon while the owner was stooping over to inspect the wound.

"Now it's my turn!" he said, with a chuckle. "It isn't your fault that you didn't kill me, and it will be my fault if I don't even matters up with you!"

Poor Buxton slowly came to the upright position, with jaws dropping and eyes staring. He could only mumble:

"W-w-what's the matter?"

"Nothing with me; it's you that's in a hole."

Believing it was all up with him, the terrified victim stood mute.

"I ought to shoot you down and I'll do so if you don't obey me."