"A fly-ketcher," said Archie B. calmly, "is a sneaking sort of a bird, that ketches flies an' little helpless insects for a--mill, maybe. Do you know any two-legged fly-ketchers a-doin' that?"

Jud glared at him, and Bonaparte grew so angry that he snapped viciously at the bark of the tree as if he would tear it down.

"What do you mean, you little imp?--what mill?"

"Why his stomach," drawled Archie B., "it's a little differunt from a cotton-mill, but it grinds 'em to death all the same."

Jud looked up again. He glared at Archie B.

"How do you know that's a fly-ketcher's nest and not a wood-p.e.c.k.e.r's, then?" he asked, to change the subject.

"That's what I'd like to know, too," said Bonaparte as plainly as his growls and two mean eyes could say it.

"If it's a fly-ketcher's, the nest will be lined with a snake's-skin," said Archie B. "That's nachrul, ain't it," he added--"the nest of all sech is lined with snake-skins."

Bonaparte, one of whose chief amus.e.m.e.nts in life was killing snakes, seemed to think this a personal thrust at himself, for he flew around the tree with renewed rage while Archie B., safe on his high perch, made faces at him and laughed.

"I'll bet it ain't that way," said Jud, rattled and discomfited and shifting his long squirrel gun across his saddle. Archie B. replied by carefully thrusting a brown sunburnt arm into the hole and bringing out a nest. "Now, a wood-p.e.c.k.e.r's egg," he said, carefully lifting an egg out and then replacing it, "'ud be pearly white."

"How did you learn all that?" sneered Jud.

"Oh, by keepin' out of a cotton mill an' usin' my eye," said Archie B., winking at Bonaparte.

Bonaparte glared back.

"I'd like to git you into the mill," said Jud. "I'd put you to wuck doin' somethin' that 'ud be worth while."

"Oh, yes, you would for a few years," sneered back Archie B. "Then you'd put me under the groun', where I'd have plenty o' time to res'."

"I'm goin' up there now to see yo' folks an' see if I can't git you into the mill."

"Oh, you are?--Well, don't be in sech a hurry an' look heah at yo'

snake-skin fust--didn't I tell you it 'ud be lined with a snake-skin?" And he threw down a last year's snake-skin which Bonaparte proceeded to rend with great fury.

"Now, come under here," went on Archie B. persuasively, "and I'll sho' you they're not pearly white, like a wood-p.e.c.k.e.r's, but cream-colored with little purple splotches scratched over 'em--like a fly-ketcher's."

Jud rode under and looked up. As he did so Archie B. suddenly turned the nest upside down, that Jud might see the eggs, and as he looked up four eggs shot out before he could duck his head, and caught him squarely between his s.h.a.ggy eyes. Blinded, smeared with yelk and smarting with his eyes full of fine broken sh.e.l.l, he scrambled from his horse, with many oaths, and began feeling for the little branch of water which ran nearby.

"I'll cut that tree down, but I'll git you and wring yo' neck," he shouted, while Bonaparte endeavored to tear it down with his teeth.

But Archie B. did not wait. Slowly he slid down the tree, while Bonaparte, thunder-struck with joy, waited at the foot, his eyes glaring, his mouth wide open, antic.i.p.ating the feast on fresh boy meat. Can he be--dare he be--coming down? Right into my jaws, too?

The very thought of it stopped his snarls.

Jud's curses filled the air.

Down--down, slid Archie B., both legs locked around the tree, until some ten feet above the dog, and, then tantalizingly, just out of reach, he suddenly tightened his brown brakes of legs, and thrusting his hand in his pocket, pulled out a small rubber ball. Reaching over, he squirted half of its contents over the dog, which still sat snarling, half in fury and half in wonder.

Then something happened. Jud could not see, being down on his knees in the little stream, washing his eyes, but he first heard demoniacal barks proceed from Bonaparte, ending in wailful snorts, howls and whines, beginning at the foot of the tree and echoing in a fast vanishing wail toward home.

Jud got one eye in working order soon enough to see a cloud of sand and dust rolling down the road, from the rear of which only the stub of a tail could be seen, curled spasmodically downward toward the earth.

Jud could scarcely believe his eyes--Bonaparte--the champion dog--running--running like that?

"Whut--whut--whut,"--he stammered, "Whut _did he do_ to Bonaparte?"

Then he saw Archie B. up the road toward home, rolling in the sand with shouts of laughter.

"If I git my hands on you," yelled Jud, shaking his fist at the boy, "I'll swaller you alive."

"That's what the fly-ketcher said to the b.u.t.terfly," shouted back Archie B.

It was a half hour before Jud got all the fine eggsh.e.l.l out of his eyes. After that he decided to let the b.u.t.ts family alone for the present. But as he rode away he was heard to say again:

"Whut--whut--whut _did he do_ to Bonaparte?"

Archie B. was still rolling on the ground, and chuckling now and then in fits of laughter, when a determined, motherly looking, fat girl appeared at the doorway of the family cottage. It was his sister, Patsy b.u.t.ts:

"Maw," she exclaimed, "I wish you'd look at Archie B. I bet he's done sump'in."

There was a parental manner in her way. Her one object in life, evidently, was to watch Archie B.

"You Archie B.," yelled his mother, a sallow little woman of quick nervous movements, "air you havin' a revulsion down there? What air you been doin' anyway? Now, you git up from there and go see why Ozzie B. don't fetch the cows home."

Archie B. arose and went down the road whistling.

A ground squirrel ran into a pile of rocks. Archie B. turned the rocks about until he found the nest, which he examined critically and with care. He fingered it carefully and patted it back into shape.

"Nice little nes'," he said--"that settles it--I thought they lined it with fur." Then he replaced the rocks and arose to go.

A quarter of a mile down the road he stopped and listened.

He heard his brother, Ozzie B., sobbing and weeping.

Ozzie B. was his twin brother--his "after clap"--as Archie B. called him. He was timid, uncertain, pious and given to tears--"bo'hn on a wet Friday"--as Archie B. had often said. He was always the effect of Archie B.'s cause, the ill.u.s.tration of his theorem, the solution of his problem of mischief, the penalty of his misdemeanors.

Presently Ozzie B. came in sight, hatless and driving his cows along, but sobbing in that hiccoughy way which is the final stage of an acute thrashing.

No one saw more quickly than Archie B., and he knew instantly that his brother had met Jud Carpenter, on his way back to the mill.

"He's caught my lickin' ag'in," said Archie B., indignantly--"it's a pity he looks so much like me."

It was true, and Ozzie B. stood and dug one toe into the ground, and sobbed and wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve, and told how, in spite of his explanations and beseechings, the Whipper-in had met him down the road and thrashed him unmercifully.

"Ozzie B.," said his brother, "you make me tired all over and in spots. I hate for as big a fool as you to look like me. Whyncher run--whyncher dodge him?"

"I--I--wanted ter do my duty," sobbed Ozzie B. "Maw tole me ter drive--drive the cows right up the road--"

Archie B. surveyed him with fine scorn: