The house was a stately structure of stone, and would seem a safe place in which to store the valuables that, according to rumor, had been left there—old family plate, rich mahogany furniture, and costly bric-à-brac. Reports of all this had aroused the spirit of covetousness in the breasts of at least the less scrupulous of the neighboring villagers. A rumor, however, that the late Mr. Beverley's shade made nightly visitations to guard his son's possessions had probably so far kept away these would-be burglars, if such existed.
Farmer Bagstock stood, one August afternoon, in the doorway of Mr. Smythe's little store—one of the kind that keeps the whole range of necessities from muslin to mowing-machines. His thin sawlike features wore an expectant expression, and his eyes were lightened by a look of cunning and greed as he occasionally glanced down the road. Farmer Bagstock was not rich in this world's goods, and the nature of his efforts to become so might, it is feared, damage his prospects in the next. His patient waiting was at last rewarded, for a long lank figure presently appeared far down the street, evidently making for Mr. Smythe's establishment.
When this individual, known as Hoke Simpkins, mounted the steps the farmer greeted him in a rather surly way.
"Ben waitin' long enough, I should think."
"Couldn't git here no sooner, 'pon my word," responded Hoke, apologetically.
After a word or two with the talkative storekeeper, Bagstock bestowed a wink upon his friend, and suggested that they "walk down the road a piece." Hoke complied, and presently they left the highway and entered a small piece of woodland. Following the course of a brook for some distance, they reached an immense oak-tree and seated themselves underneath it. The surrounding underbrush and the oak's thick trunk concealed them from the view of any one who might chance to pass along by the stream.
II.
A short time before this, James Stokes, one of the village boys, came down to the brook to try his luck at trout-fishing. The afternoon was sultry and rather cloudy, and it was probable that the fish would bite, if there were any there. But these contrary trout evidently turned up their noses at his tempting flies, and at last he gave up in despair. But Jimmy would not relinquish all hope of a "catch" yet, so he wandered further up the stream. He walked quite noiselessly for fear of scaring the fish, and at last halted just back of a large oak-tree. Before he had had time to cast his fly Jimmy heard the sound of men's voices speaking in low and cautious tones. Now he was a typical small boy, and of a shrewd and inquiring turn of mind, so he dropped quietly down on the bank and listened, screening himself from possible observation by getting behind a large stump. Soon he caught a sentence which made him hold his breath to hear more.
"Waal," slowly said a voice which he could not at first recognize, "the only thing is, we'll haf ter break a winder. I found everythin' fastened when I skirmished round t'other night."
"It 'ud make an awful racket, breakin' the glass. 'Twould be better to take a pane out, I reckon," answered the other man.