"Stop it! stop it!" yelled Phil, forgetting himself in his excitement.
"How?" asked Dave, dryly, as he arose from the grass.
"I don't want to lose that fine kite," went on Phil, soberly. "Why, it cost me over three dollars to make it. It was part silk!"
"Let us go after it," said Dave. "I don't think it will sail so very far."
Roger's kite was placed in the care of Buster Beggs and Shadow Hamilton, and off went the senator's son, Dave, and Phil after the runaway kite. The course was almost straight for Oakdale and presently they saw the silken affair settle in the direction of Mike Marcy's orchard.
"It is going down at Marcy's!" cried Roger.
"I hope it doesn't get torn in the trees," returned Phil, who was doubly proud of the kite because he had made it alone and by his own plan.
"Maybe Marcy won't give it to us," said Dave. "Remember, he doesn't like us students."
"Yes, and remember, too, that he keeps dogs," added Roger.
Mike Marcy was an Irish-American farmer who had lived in that section for many years. He was what is termed a "close-fisted man," and one who had but little to do with the outside world. He was supposed to be rich, although he usually put on an air of poverty whenever anybody called upon him. His farm was of fair size, and contained a good stone house, a barn, and several other out-buildings. He had a big orchard, and to keep off thieves kept half a dozen dogs, all of them more or less savage creatures.