Flora had little faith in Charley's promises. Bertie had a new idea in his head. He wanted to prepare a trap for a musk-rat. That was why he could not attend to making the cage. If he succeeded in catching one—and he thought he should, for the spring was full of them—Flora was to have all the perfumery she wanted. So she was comforted, and in time—a very short time—forgot all about the robin. Bertie set his trap, and waited. Nobody believed in the musk-rat but Flora. She had faith in the success of all Bertie's undertakings. Everybody else laughed at him for his pains. Charley said he was a "goney," whatever that may be, and Amy advised him to turn his attention to something sensible. He travelled down to the spring every morning before breakfast, and with quickly beating heart examined the trap. There was nothing in it, but there were tracks all around. He resolved to follow up those tracks, and see what would come of them. It was a long walk to the spring, and a lonely walk. Other traps were set thereabouts, but their owners lived near by, or came from the upper road. Of course he never asked for Charley's company. Charley had no faith, and he ridiculed the idea of going so often on a wild-goose chase. But Bertie reasoned within himself,—other fellows caught musk-rats, why should not he? His traps were as good as theirs, his bait the same. To be sure he never had caught one, but that was no reason he never should. There must be a first time for every thing. And when he did trap one, wouldn't Charley change his tune? The spring was alive with musk-rats. One should find the way into his trap. He hoped it would be a "buster." He was on the road to the spring, when these thoughts passed through his mind. There had been a white frost, and the air was keen. He thrust his hands into his pockets, and ran along, whistling cheerfully. His spirits were light, and his hopes high. He half expected to find a musk-rat in his trap. He had made the path to it so easy and inviting, surely something must have found the way thither. Not a musk-rat, perhaps, but something. When he got there, he was surprised to find a boy examining his trap. It was not an agreeable surprise, for the boy was Jack Midnight; the very last person in the world with whom he desired to have any dealings. It was the same Jack who dishonestly made way with Charley's calico rooster. Bertie was angry. Without stopping to inquire into the circumstances, as he would have done if it had been any other boy, he at once jumped to a wrong conclusion. He thought that Jack was plotting mischief, and without waiting for his hot blood to cool, he called, quickly,
"Do you know what you are gabbing about?" queried Jack.
"I guess I do."
"And I guess you don't. Supposing you hold your horses a minute?"
"It is a mean thing, any how, to meddle with another fellow's trap."
"It is your trap, is it?"
"Yes, it is."
"Well, who's a meddling?"
"You."