“Oh, Sam! Sam!” said Fred, at length, “how could you?”
Sam caught up a hatchet and looked as if he was going to aim it at him, then suddenly dropped it into the water.
Fred's heart beat fast, and the blood came and went from his cheeks; he caught his breath heavily, and the water, the abutment and even Sam with his wicked ugly face were for a moment darkened. Then, recovering himself, he said:
“Was it you, Sam? I'm sorry for you!”
“Don't lie!” said Sam, glowering back, “you know you're glad!”
“Glad? Why should I be glad to have you steal?”
“Cause I licked you, and you caught it.”
“So I did; but I am sorry, for all that.”
“You lie!”
Fred had thought very fast while this conversation was going on. He had only to lift his head and call his father, then the boat would be immediately pushed in under the store, Sam secured and his punishment certain. There were stolen goods enough to convict him, and his mode of ingress into the store was now certain. This trap-door was never locked; very often it was left open—the water being considered the most effectual bolt and bar that could be used; but Sam, a good swimmer and climber, had come in without difficulty and had quite a store of his own hidden away there for future use. This course was very plain; but for some reason, which Fred could not explain even to himself, he did not feel inclined to take it; so he sat looking steadily in Sam's face until he said: