"The Misses Pokeby and the Misses Sinclair have the honor to--to-- Oh, Clara, what was I to say?" asked Ollie, blushing tremendously.

"Cut it short, please; we're so hungry," put in Charlie.

"Well, I will. We want you boys to come and get some supper which _we_ have prepared for you--a sort of picnic, you know."

The boys gave a shout, flung down their traps, and made for the water to wash hands and faces, only Ted looked ruefully at his string of fish.

"What is the matter, Ted?" said Lil, coming up, with her face all flushed from being over the fire.

"Why, I was wishing we could have some of these for supper; but it's no matter, after all."

"Oh yes, it is. If you'll sc.r.a.pe and fix them, I can put them in the frying-pan in a jiffy."

So Ted went to work with a will.

Never had the boys tasted anything half so nice as that supper; they ate till they could eat no more. Lil scrambled eggs, and fried fish, and made tea, till Ollie insisted upon it that she should sit down and be served like a princess. Then they sang, and danced, and played games till Mrs. Pokeby and Miss Sinclair came after them, and carried them all home in Mr. Pokeby's big wagon.

"Really I never had more fun in my life," said Lil to Mrs. Pokeby, as they bade her good-by at the farm gate; "and I am so much obliged to you for letting us give that supper, though the getting it ready was the best part."

"That's because you seasoned it."

"What with?" asked Lil, wondering.

"With work--actual work."

"Do you think so? Perhaps that's the reason boys have such good times."

"I dare say."

[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 47, September 21.]

"MOONSHINERS."

BY E. H. MILLER.

CHAPTER III.

CONNY REPAYS THE DOCTOR'S KINDNESS.

But before the mountains were quite bare there came a time when even Conny ceased to interest the family, for Joe was coming home from college. Joe, the handsome young student, whom father, mother, Betty, and the servants all agreed to worship. He was to bring with him a friend, and from garret to cellar the whole house was astir to do them honor.

Conny was in the kitchen, polishing the silver, and listening to Biddy's raptures. "Sure, thin, Conny, and it's a young gintleman ye'll be seein'

as there isn't the likes in ahl this miserable c.o.o.ntry, bad luck till it!"

"Is he like the master?" asked Conny.

"Indade, thin, I couldn't be sayin' whidder it's likest the masther or the misthress he is. Tahl an' straight, an' sooch a look in the two eyes of 'im."

"Conny," said the doctor, coming to the door, "I am obliged to go to Hampton to see a very sick man. You will have to go for Master Joe and the other gentleman to-night."

"Yes, sir," said Conny, well pleased with the commission.

"Be sure you start in season. Put Doll into the sulky, and lead Prince behind. The young gentlemen can drive themselves back, unless Joe chooses to ride Prince. He was always such a boy for a horse!"

The doctor's rugged face softened, as it always did at the thought of his boy, and it was no small self-denial to go away to the bedside of some poor old wreck of humanity, delaying for hours the delight of greeting his prince.

Early in the afternoon Conny started on his long ride of ten miles to meet the young gentlemen at Kilbourne, the nearest railroad station. It was almost November, but the blue haze of the Indian summer hung over the landscape, and the air was warm and mellow with sunshine. Any eye but Conny's would have said that the long mountain gorges, and the thickly wooded glens into which they opened, were deserted of all life save the squirrels and a few wood birds, but Conny heard a hawk's note from above the cliff, and caught sight of a man silently watching him from behind a mossy log. He laughed a little to himself to think how often he had played the spy in that very hollow, watching to see who came or went from Kilbourne, and then with a word started Doll into a quicker pace. He was at Kilbourne in ample time to meet his pa.s.sengers, and, as the doctor had antic.i.p.ated, Joe decided that he would ride Prince, as he had so often done before, while Conny should take his friend Dougla.s.s in the sulky.

The brief sunshine was already vanishing when they started, and the warmth rapidly leaving the frosty air. Dougla.s.s wrapped himself closely in his cloak, and Master Joe was glad to start Prince into a brisk canter. Almost without warning the night shut down, and they found the deeper cuts among the mountains quite dark. Doll was a swift traveller, and old Prince could not keep up his pace, so Master Joe gradually fell back, and kept near the sulky, exchanging words with his friend, and plying Conny with questions about home.

"We shall soon be there now," he said, as they entered a narrow gorge.

"We really ought to show you some sort of an adventure, Dougla.s.s, to give the proper spice to your first visit to the mountains. If it was summer, now, we could get something terrific in the shape of a storm, and slide a few rods of road down the mountain, or pile up the track with big trees and rocks."

"I should fancy it was just the kind of place for banditti," said his friend; "and I am sure some of those fellows we saw at the station look as if they would take naturally to that sort of life."

They were driving slowly, and at that moment a strange, shrill cry went wavering up from below them.

"That's a murderous voice for a bird," said Dougla.s.s.

"It's a hawk. I fancy," said Master Joe; "you often hear it among the mountains, though I've never been able to find the fellow.-- What's wrong, Conny?" for Conny had stopped Doll so suddenly that Prince b.u.mped his nose on the sulky.

Alas for Conny! He knew well enough what that cry meant. It was a warning sent up to some one at the rocky pa.s.s above, to say that danger was coming up the mountain. He remembered in an instant that old Timothy had said there were stories of government officers in disguise spying about Dunsmore, and that the moonshiners would make it uncomfortable for them if they crossed their tracks.

No dream of fear for himself came to his mind, but how should he save Master Joe? for he knew more than even old Timothy guessed of the lawless and desperate characters among the mountains.

"Master Joe," said he, quickly, "would you mind changing with me a bit?

I'm lighter weight to carry, and I'll go on to let old Timothy know.

He'd be vexed not to be ready with his lantern."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "CONNY WENT SPINNING AWAY IN THE DUSK."]

Joe was quite ready for the exchange. It was many months since he had tried the saddle, and an hour of it was quite enough to satisfy him; so he settled back comfortably in the seat, while Conny went spinning away in the dusk, as if old Prince had suddenly renewed his youth. They heard the hoof-clicks on the hard road growing fainter in the distance, and then the sharp ring of a rifle that woke a thousand echoes among the hills.

Dougla.s.s started, but Joe laughed.

"Your banditti are putting in an appearance."

"Attacking an unfortunate rabbit, I suppose," said Dougla.s.s, bravely.

Neither of them guessed what had really happened. When Conny rode at full speed into Hemlock Glen he had hardly a plan as to what he should do, but the next instant a bullet struck him in the shoulder and almost sent him from his horse. He caught the lines in his left hand, and called in a clear but low voice to some invisible foe, "It's I, Conny McConnell, and the lads in the buggy beyond are just Master Joe, the doctor's son, coming home from college with a friend, just a laddie like himsel'."

There was not a sound in response unless a dry twig may have cracked, but Conny paced slowly along until Doll's quick feet brought her into the Glen.

"Hullo, Conny!" called Master Joe, "did you hear a rifle-shot?"