“They’re apples from your thousand-dollar tree,” volunteered Fred, forestalling the question that he saw in the doctor’s eyes.
“What!” exclaimed Dr. Raymond with a start, as a look of sternness began to steal over his features.
For that tree was his special pride, and he valued it almost as much as the rest of his orchard put together.
“We weren’t the ones that picked the apples,” broke in Mouser. “We found a gang of thieves down there helping themselves and we drove them off. Bobby did the most of it, though. He sure can think quickly.”
“Come in here and tell me all about it,” directed the doctor, leading the way into the room from which he had just come.
“Now, Blake,” he said after they were seated, “from what Pryde said, I fancy you are the one to tell me the story.”
Bobby fidgeted a little uncomfortably. It was hard to tell the facts without dwelling on the part he had played in it, and he hated to find himself in the limelight.
“Why, Doctor Raymond,” he said, “there isn’t much to tell. We were walking down the lane when we saw an auto drawn up at the side of the road and then we saw five fellows gathering apples from that tree. We knew how much you thought of it, so we went into the orchard and made them go away.”
“Were they boys about your own size?” asked the doctor. “Anybody you know about here or in the town?”
“No, sir,” replied Bobby. “They were big fellows, almost men. None of us ever saw them before. They had a big car and they probably came from a distance.”