style="font-size:15px;"> "Of course not. I don't think he is really as good a shot as you or I."
"You can hardly class yourself with me," said James egotistically. "However. I agree with you that he is inferior to you."
"Quick, James!" said Tom Wyman. "There is a squirrel—shoot! I'll give you the first chance."
James pulled the trigger, but the squirrel was not destined to fall by his hands. He scampered away, looking back saucily at the baffled young hunter.
"Was ever anything more provoking?" asked James in evident chagrin.
Later in the afternoon when the two boys were slowly strolling homewards, they saw a strange man issuing from the woods. It was Lyman Taylor, returned from his only partially successful visit to his uncle.
He waited till the boys came up.
"Good afternoon, young gentlemen," he said by way of greeting.
"Good afternoon," returned James stiffly.
He doubted whether the newcomer was a man whom it was worth while to notice.
"What luck have you had? I see you have been out hunting."
"We didn't shoot anything we thought worth bringing home," said Tom.
"I met another boy out with a gun. Perhaps he is a friend of yours."
James and Tom exchanged glances. They understood very well that Mark Manning was meant.
"I think I know the boy you met," said James. "It is a poor boy who works in my father's manufactory."
"What is his name?" asked Lyman Taylor.
"Mark Manning."
"Does he live in the village?"
"Yes; his mother is a poor widow."
"Where did you meet him?" asked Tom.
"At a cabin in the woods."
"Old Anthony's?"
"Yes; the hermit is an uncle of mine."
The two boys regarded the speaker with interest. All the villagers had some curiosity about the man who had settled so near them.
"What is his name?" inquired Tom.
"You called him old Anthony," said Lyman, smiling. "That is his name."
"But his other name?"
"His last name is Taylor, I have not seen him before for five years. Does he often come into the village?"
"About twice a week."
"I suppose he comes to buy food?"
"Yes; I suppose so."
"Does he appear to be provided with money?" asked Taylor with some eagerness.
"Yes, I believe so," replied Tom. "He has sometimes come into our place—father is the postmaster—to get a gold piece changed. But I don't suppose he has much money. It doesn't cost him much to live."
"Does he ever get any letters—as your father is postmaster, you can probably tell."
"I don't think so; my father has never mentioned it, and I think he would if any had been received."
"What sort of a boy is this Mark Manning?" asked Taylor abruptly.
"I don't think much of him," answered James. "He is poor and proud. He is only a pegger in our shop, but he puts on airs with the best."
"Do you think he is honest?"
The two boys looked surprised; that question had never occurred to them.
"What makes you ask?" inquired James.
"Only that he has in his possession a sum of money belonging to my uncle."
"Did he tell you so? did you see it?" were the questions quickly asked.
"I met him at my uncle's cabin. My uncle owed me a small sum, and instead of paying me himself, he asked this boy to pay me. The boy took the money from his pocket, and handed it to me."
Both boys were surprised.
"I didn't know he had anything to do with the hermit," said Tom. "Did you, James?"
"No; but then I don't trouble myself about Mark Manning's affairs."
Lyman Taylor regarded James shrewdly, he had no difficulty in detecting the boy's dislike towards Mark.
"Excuse my troubling you with questions, young gentlemen," he said. "My uncle is a simple-minded old man, and it would be easy to rob him, though I fancy he hasn't much money. This boy Mark appeared to me an artful young rogue, who might very probably cheat him out of the small sum he has."
"I never saw the two together," said Tom, musingly. "Old Anthony has generally paid his bills himself."
"He is sick just now, and perhaps that accounts for it. The boy Mark has been making purchases for him in the village. However, I must leave the place, as important business calls me elsewhere. Since you," addressing Tom, "are the postmaster's son, may I ask a favor of you?"
"Certainly."
"If my uncle should die, can I trouble you to send me a note informing me, as I should feel called upon, as his only relative, to see that he was properly buried."
"Yes, sir; I will write you, if you will leave me your address."
Lyman Taylor gave Tom the same address he had already given Mark. He then bade the boys good-bye, and walked on.
"Uncle Anthony may have some money," he soliloquized, "and if he dies, I shall see if I can find it. I am pretty sure to hear through one of the boys."
CHAPTER VI.
A TRAGEDY IN THE PASTURE
On their way home the two boys had occasion to cross a pasture belonging to Deacon Miller, an old farmer whose house and barn were about a furlong distant on a rising ground.
They sauntered along in single file. James had a careless way of carrying his gun, which made some of the boys unwilling to accompany him, unless it was unloaded. Tom had two or three times cautioned him on this very afternoon, but James did not receive his remonstrance in good part.
"Don't trouble yourself so much about my gun, Tom Wyman," he said. "I guess I know how to carry my gun as well as you do."
"I don't doubt that in the least, James, but you must admit that you handle it rather carelessly. Some of the boys don't like to go hunting with you."
"Then they are cowards. I never shot any boy yet," answered James, with some heat.
"No, but you might."
"You are making a great deal of fuss about nothing. I didn't think you were so timid."
"I don't know that I am particularly
