“What’s bothering me,” admitted Elmer, ruefully, “is whether Old Jed recognized any of us. When he flashed that light he must have seen me staring out at him from behind that sofa.”
“And I’m afraid I dropped my cap somewhere,” said Dick, uneasily. “The worst thing about it is I was silly enough to write my name inside.”
“Whew! that may mean a whole lot of trouble for the crowd, Dick!” exclaimed Leslie. “But just remember that what happens to one must concern all. We’re every bit as guilty as you are; and if Old Jed starts to give you any trouble we’ll all own up and take the penalty.”
“That’s mighty good of you to say that, Leslie,” declared Dick. “But perhaps after all the deacon will remember it was Hallowe’en. He must have been a boy himself once, and ought to forgive such pranks. But let’s get home now, fellows, and forget our troubles. Come on, Dan, if you’re through shedding your gore. So-long all the rest of you.”
CHAPTER III
THE MAN WHO HAD FAITH
“Good morning, Mr. Holwell!”
“Glad to see you, Harry. I suppose you are on your way to the mills, for since you decided to act as assistant to your good father, instead of going another two years to college, you’ve been sticking pretty close to your work.”
Mr. Thomas Holwell, the best-loved pastor in Cliffwood, shook hands most heartily with the fine looking young fellow whom he had met on the main street of the town about eight o’clock in the morning of that first day of November.
Harry Bartlett was the only son of the head of the big paper mills. He had always been a credit to the town, and won many honors for his school both with regard to scholarships and in athletics. Two years in college had seen him getting along famously, when a change in his father’s health caused him to alter all his plans, bringing him back home to assume some of the business cares.
“Oh! I find plenty of time to be doing some other things that I care for, in spite of the heavy work at the mills,” replied young Bartlett, cheerily.