"That's a good way," said Aunt Jane.
"Good-bye, auntie, good-bye, grandpa. When you want any more molasses and things, I'm the boy to get 'em."
And off started Preston in gay spirits, sending a long, shrill whistle before him, and running to catch up with it. His first thought was to go home, and give the gold piece to his mother for safe keeping; but he lived half a mile down town, and it did seem too bad to spare the time from play.
"Hullo, Pres," called out a ringing voice, "what you smiling at down there?"
Preston stopped whistling, and looked up to see where the voice came from.
Tommy Winters was sitting on the bough of a horsechestnut-tree, eating gingerbread. Now Tommy was a naughty, reckless fellow, and Preston had been forbidden to play with him; but the sight of Tommy's face filled him with a vague longing, not for gingerbread, but for mischief.
There really was a bad charm about Tommy—when he fixed his "glittering eye" upon you, he made you think of all sorts of delightful things you'd like to do, only they were apt to be naughty things. Did you ever see a boy who had a bad charm?
"What you up to down there?" repeated Tommy, as Preston finished tying up the gold piece, and put it in his pocket.
"O, I'm up to lots o' things," replied Preston, gaily. "Don't you wish you knew what I've got in my handkerchief?"
Tommy didn't know of course; but he instantly guessed there was money in the handkerchief: he could see the hard knot, and he could see the smile on Preston's face; and Tommy was not a fool by any means.