sun was then sliding down toward the western horizon. Bobby's trousers were pretty well dried. He put on his bathing trunks, and followed Fred into the pool.
Both boys were good swimmers. There was a fine rock to dive from and a soft, sandy bottom. No danger here, and for an hour the chums had a most delightful time.
Then Bobby brought his own clothes across to the side of the creek where they had begun to fish. Fred brought the fishing-tackle and the two strings of fish. Then he trotted down the bank to get his own clothes and their shoes and stockings.
Bobby was half dressed when he heard his chum shouting. "Bobby! Bobby!" shrieked the red-haired boy.
Fearing that his chum was in trouble, Bobby started for the sound of Fred's voice, on a hard run.
"I'm coming, Fred! Hold on!" he shouted, as loudly as he could.
In a few moments he came out into the open place where Fred had carefully arranged his clothing on the low bushes. There wasn't a garment there, and Fred came out of the brush, his face very red and angry.
"What's the matter?" asked Bobby.
"Matter enough!" returned his chum. "Don't you see?"
"Not – not your clothes gone?" gasped Bobby.
"Yes they are. Every stitch. And your shoes, too. What do you think of that?"
"Why – why – Somebody's taken them?"
"Of course somebody has. And it's your fault," said Fred, very much provoked. "If you had helped me pitch in and lick that Ap Plunkit, he wouldn't have dared do this."
"Maybe – maybe he'd have licked us," stammered Bobby.
"He'll – he'll just have to lick me when I meet up with him next time, or else he'll take the biggest licking he ever took," threatened the wrathful Master Martin, wiping a couple of angry tears out of his eyes with a scratched knuckle.
CHAPTER V
THE TALE OF A SCARECROW
"My goodness! you can't go home that way," said Bobby Blake, faintly.
He did not laugh at all. The situation had suddenly become tragic instead of comic. Fred could not walk back to Clinton in his bathing-trunks – that is, not until after dark.
"I wish I had hold of that Ap Plunkit," repeated Fred Martin. "He did it," he added.
"Oh, we don't know – "
"Of course we do. He sneaked along there after us and found my clothes, and ran away with them – every one. And your shoes and stockings, too!"
"No he didn't, either!" cried Bobby, suddenly, staring up into the tall tree over their heads.
"Eh?"
"There are the shoes and stockings – shoes, anyway," declared Bobby, pointing.
It was a chestnut tree above their heads. It promised a full crop of nuts in the fall, for the green burrs starred thickly the leafy branches.
Whoever had disturbed the chums' possessions had climbed to the very tip-top of the chestnut and hung the two pair of shoes far out on a small branch.
"That's Ap Plunkit's work – I know," declared Fred, with conviction. "He climbs trees like a monkey. You see how long his arms are. I've seen him go up a taller tree than this."
"Maybe he's taken your clothes up there, too," said Bobby, going to the trunk of the tree.
"The mean scamp!" exclaimed Fred. "How'll we get them, Bob? I – I can't climb that tree this way."
"Neither can I," admitted his friend. "But wait till I run and get my clothes on – "
"And you'd better run, too!" exclaimed Fred, suddenly, "or you won't find the rest of yourclothes."
Thus advised, Bobby Blake set out at once for the spot where he had been dressing. There was no sign of Applethwaite Plunkit about – or of any other marauder. Just the same, when Bobby was dressed and went down the creek side again to Fred, he carried all their possessions with him.
That chestnut was a hard tree for Bobby to climb – especially barefooted. There were so many prickly burrs that had dropped into the crotches of the limbs, and, drying, had become quite stiff and sharp. He had to stop several times as he mounted upward to pick the thorns from his feet.
But he got the shoes and stockings, and, hanging them around his neck, came down as swiftly as he could. Both boys at once sat down and put on this part of their apparel. Fred was almost tempted to cry; but then, he was too angry to "boo-hoo" much.
"I'll catch that Ap Plunkit, and I'll do something to him yet," he declared. "I'll have him arrested for stealing my clothes, anyway."
"How can we prove he took them? We didn't see him," said Bobby, thoughtfully.
"Well!"
"I tell you what," Bobby said. "Let's go up to his house and tell his mother. We know he did this, even if we didn't see him. Of course, we got him mad first – "
"We didn't have to get him mad," declared Fred. "He's mad all the time."
"Well, we plagued him. He just was getting square."
"But such a mean trick to steal a fellow's clothes!"
"Maybe his folks will see it that way and make Applethwaite give them back."
"But I can't go up there to the house with only these old tights on!" said Fred.
"No," and Bobby couldn't help grinning a little. "You wear my jacket."
"And if I have lost my clothes," wailed Fred, "and have to go home this way, my father will give it to me good! Come on!"
"Let's each find a good club. That dog, you know," said Bobby.
"Sure. And if we meet up with Ap, I'll be likely to use it on him, too!" growled Fred, angrily.
Bobby decided that it was useless to try to pacify his chum at the moment. It seemed to relieve Fred to threaten the absent Ap Plunkit, and it did that individual no bodily harm!
So the boys found stout clubs and started up the bank of the creek. Fred was feeling so badly that he did not pick more of the "summer sweetnin's" when they came to the apple tree.
They crawled through the hole in the boundary fence of the Plunkit Farm and kept on up the creek-side. First they crossed the pasture, then they climbed a tight fence and entered a big cornfield. The corn was taller than their heads and there were acres and acres of it. It was planted right along the edge of the creek bank, and they had to walk between the rows.
"If old Plunkit sees us in his corn, he'll be mad," said Fred, at last.
"This is the nearest way to the house, and we've got to try and get your clothes," said Bobby, firmly.
After that, he took the lead. The nearer they approached the farmhouse, the more Fred lagged. But suddenly, in the midst of the long cornfield, Master Martin uttered a cry.
"Look
