"Hallo! Uncle Robert! Help, help! Thieves in the garden!" shouted Harry, who certainly had no defect of the lungs.
"Take that, you little monkey!" said Shuffles, angrily, as he struck the little fellow a heavy blow on the side of the head with his fist, which knocked him down. "I'll fix you the next, time I see you."
Shuffles consulted his discretion rather than his valor, now that the alarm had been given, and retreated towards the place where he had entered garden.
"What's the matter, Harry?" asked Mr. Lowington, as he rushed over the bridge, followed by the gardener and his assistants, just as Harry was picking himself up and rubbing his head.
"They were stealing your peaches, and I tried to stop them," replied Harry. "They have taken some of them now."
Mr. Lowington glanced at the favorite tree, and his brow lowered with anger and vexation. His paper before the "Pomological" could be illustrated by only nine peaches, instead of thirteen.
"Who stole them, Harry?" demanded the disappointed fruit-grower.
The nephew hesitated a moment, and the question was repeated with more sternness.
"Robert Shuffles; Isaac Monroe was with him, but he didn't take any of the peaches."
"What is the matter with your head, Harry?" asked his uncle, when he observed him rubbing the place where the blow had fallen.