Maurice scratched his head in perplexity. "Wonder where he's takin' Dad? It's too late fer sheep-shearin' an' too early fer hog-killin'; an' that's 'bout all Dad's good at doin', 'cept leadin' the singin' at prayer-meetin'. Wonder what's up? Gee! the deacon is sure puttin' his old mare over the road."
"Keep quiet till they get past," cautioned Billy. "Say! we needn't have been so blamed careful about makin' our sneak if we'd knowed your Pa was away from home."
"Oh, look, Bill," said Maurice, "they're stoppin' at your place."
The deacon had pulled up at the Wilson's gate. "He's shoutin' fer Pa," Billy whispered, as a resounding "Hello, Tom!" awoke the forest echoes. "Come on Maurice, let's work our way down along this strip o' bushes, so's we kin hear what's goin' on."
The boys wriggled their way through the thicket of sumach, and reached a clump of golden-rod inside the road fence just as Wilson came out of the lane.
"Mornin', neighbors," he greeted the men in the buckboard, "won't you pull in?"
"No," said the deacon, "we're on our way to Twin Oaks, Thomas. Thieves broke into Spencer's store last night. We're goin' up to see if we can be of any use to Caleb. We'd like you to come along."
Wilson's exclamation of surprise was checked by Cobin Keeler, whose long arm reached out and encircled him. He was lifted bodily into the seat and the buckboard dashed on up the road, the clatter of its loose spokes drowning the loud voices of its occupants.
The boys eat up and stared at each other.
"You heard?" Billy asked in awed tones.