WOOD-PILING time had come again. It found a new barn and a new shed already , in place of the old ones, upon the . The house had been repainted and the buggy had been revarnished. Thus far the damage by the fire had been made good. But here the work must stop, for no new Bob could fill the place of the old Bob.
 
Bob had long been put away; still Ned often dreamed of him, and while knowing that such a thing was impossible, was always expecting to meet him, suddenly, around some corner. No other dog would Ned have, although his father told him to get whatever kind he chose. To Bob—faithful, human Bob,—there could be no second.
 
The long vacation had begun, and Ned was making his morning attack upon his eleven loads of slabs—that annual visitation to which he was subjected—when he heard a familiar whistle, answered it according to the code, and presently saw Hal climb over the fence.
 
“Hello,” greeted Hal. “Got to work?”
 
“Yes,” replied Ned, gloomily. “Just look at the wood, will you!”
 
“Want to know something?” Hal—news fairly sticking out all over him. “Well, listen here. What do you suppose old Belton has got planted ’way off behind his house! Watermelons!”
 
He paused in order to give his audience time to swallow the startling fact.
 
“Whereabouts?” asked Ned, delight in his tone.
 
“Near the ravine, beyond the grapes,” answered Hal. “He thinks he has them hid, I guess; but I ran slap into them yesterday when I was taking a short cut to the . Come on, and I’ll show you.”
 
“I can’t come now,” said Ned, slowly. “I’ve got to pile wood till noon. But I’ll go with you right away after dinner.”
 
“Well, you come around, then,” agreed Hal.
 
Belton’s “place,” at the of the town, was a standing challenge, for half the year, at least, to the Beaufort youth. Of course, the squire was only in guarding his fruit as he did. He grew fruit to sell, not to donate to greedy boys. But they regarded him as a , mean old codger, and .
 
It was very to along the dusty road, on a day of late August, and to gaze helplessly at those trees with their delicious, apples! However, the squire’s big white house commanded this , and its windows were ever staring, and the squire himself or some of his family never failed to catch the least wavering from the straight path of honesty—in this case the path outside the orchard fence.
 
In addition, the barbed wires of the fence were close together, and as tight as fiddle-strings—ugly things to scale when the squire’s vigorous yellow dog was coming full .
 
There were grapes, too; and these were on the slope, facing the house, and in plain sight from the porch and .
 
Orchard and vineyard stayed proof against nearly all plots and attacks. But now, thanks to Hal’s “short cut,” for two Beauforters, anyway, a new field of action was opened.
 
for the melon-patch!
 
His mind filled with the bright , Ned gobbled a hasty dinner, and made a bee-line for Hal’s house.
 
Together they took their way to the limits of town, and cunningly made a circuit of the Belton premises until safe from those , alert windows and the ever yellow dog. Then Hal led his companion into the ravine that pierced the squire’s lands. Amidst a jungle of undergrowth they worked a course, and when Hal gave the word mounted the flank.
 
“There!” said Hal, when they had gained the .
 
In front of them lay a small, area of low vines, with every few feet a smooth, green oval showing itself—peaceful promise of a fine feast to come.
 
“Isn’t this luck!” whispered Hal.
 
“Say!” sighed Ned, overcome by his feelings.
 
Having surveyed, they beat a retreat. So very cautious were they, that on their way home they scarce even dared discuss the find. It seemed too good to be true, and might vanish.
 
That evening, when at supper Mr. Miller remarked that an extraordinary crop of melons was in view, Ned was so startled that he dropped his knife. Yet his father’s words had no reference at all to Squire Belton!
 
As the days passed Ned and Hal made regular visits to the melon-patch. When speaking of the patch, so careful were they that they always said “it,” and by “it” each knew what the other meant. Thirty yards was the nearest that they ventured to “it,” since this was the space separating “it” from the ravine. They kept their secret to themselves, deeming that they could manage the raid—and the melons—without help. Ned wanted to let Tom in, but Hal thought that two was enough, and inasmuch as the patch was his by reason of discovery, Ned could only yield.
 
Week by week the melons . The exact time for making closer acquaintance with them was hard to decide upon. The raid must not be too early, and on the other hand there was danger that it might be too late. Finally, Ned and Hal could no longer stand it. Melons were beginning to appear in market. The moment for action had come.
 
The boys chose a Tuesday night as the date for the attack. Ned invited Hal over to spend the evening at his house, and to sleep there. As this was nothing out of the way, it drew no suspicion.
 
They early up-stairs, the better to talk. They simply had to talk, or they would have exploded. About ten o’clock, when the household was quiet and abed, they climbed out of the window of Ned’s room, softly in their stockinged feet across the sloping roof of the little side porch, lowered themselves to the ground, hurriedly put on their shoes, for the back fence, it, and at last were safely in the protecting alley.
 
There was no moon, and, old woodsmen though they were, their way seemed to get all mixed up, full of sticks and cans and holes and hillocks. Even in the most open road they were continually stepping on things that snapped or , and they imagined that the whole country around-about must be aroused by the noise!
 
Faint in the distance, or near at hand, barked dogs of farmyard and town-yard. An in an accusing tone, and Pete, Deacon Rogers’ venerable clay-colored horse, from his pasture at them through the blackness.
 
“What’s that!” exclaimed Hal, huskily, startled; and Ned, too, jumped at the sound.
 
Had they not been setting out to “hook” melons, they might have been braver. A conscience is a bad escort, especially on a dark night!
 
 
They entered the ravine. What a ravine that was! Not very by day, by night it was downright wicked! Every thrust up a finger to trap their feet; every branch shot out a hand to slap them in the face. And there was not a single guide-post. Darkness had swallowed all , and the boys could only guess.
 
When it seemed that they surely ought to be opposite the proper spot, they climbed the steep slope.
 
“Hurrah!” cheered Hal, beneath his breath, when they reached the top. “We’ve just struck it! Here’s the poplar we go by!”
 
“Sh!” Ned.
 
As they crossed the thirty yards that lay between them and the patch, how the weeds crackled under their tread! At length they arrived at the fence bordering the little field; a fence with , swaying barbed wires betwixt which even the most awkward person ought to slip without , but just at present a of a fence which left a stinging scratch along Ned’s back, and with a tearing sound clutched Hal by the trousers.
 
“Jiminy!” exclaimed Hal.
 
“Shut up!” cautioned Ned.
 
And they were among the vines!
 
The only thing they could do was, carry off as many melons as they were able—one under each arm—and eat them. The chief reward would be the glory of having got ahead of Squire Belton. How mad he would be when he found, in the morning, that he had been outwitted!
 
The boys groped about on the ground, with hands and feet as happened to be most convenient. What is apt to be ............