worn, which he had failed to throw away on buying another just before he left home. In connection with this, a scheme for outwitting Mr. Fox came into his mind. He folded up a fragment of newspaper, and put it into the old pocketbook, bulging it out till it looked well filled, and this he left in the pocket of his pantaloons.
“Now to hide the other,” said he to himself.
He looked about the room seeking for some place of concealment. Finally he noticed in one portion of the floor a square board, which looked as if it might be lifted. He stooped over and succeeded in raising it. The space beneath was about a foot in depth—the lower level being the lathing and plastering of the room below.
“That will do,” said Harry, in a tone of satisfaction. “I don’t think Mr. Fox will find my money here,” and dropping the pocketbook into the cavity he replaced the square board. Then he went to bed and awaited results.
When Harry had gone up to his bed, Mr. and Mrs. Fox naturally began to compare notes respecting him.
“That new boy rides a high horse,” said Mrs. Fox, grimly. “Are you going to allow it?”
“Certainly not.”
“He wouldn’t give up his money to you, though you are his guardeen.”
“Very true, but I mean to have it all the same. I shall go up to his bedroom after he is asleep, and then it will be the easiest thing in the world to take the pocketbook without his knowin’ anything about it.”
“He’ll know it in the mornin’.”
“Let him! Possession is nine p’ints of the law, Mrs. Fox.”
“He might say you stole it.”
“He can’t do that, for I’m his guardeen, don’t you see?”
A little after ten Mr. Fox, considering that Harry must be sound asleep, decided to make him a visit. He removed his shoes, and in his stocking feet, candle in hand, began to ascend the narrow and steep staircase which led to the attic.
“Shall I go with you, John?” queried his helpmeet.
“No, I guess I can manage alone.”
His wife wanted to share in the excitement of the night visit. There was something alluring in the thought of creeping upstairs, and removing by stealth, the pocketbook of the new inmate of their home.
Left to himself, Mr. Fox pursued his way up the attic stairs. They creaked a little under his weight, and, much to his annoyance, when he reached the landing at the top he coughed.
“I hope the boy won’t hear me,” he said to himself.
He paused an instant, then softly opened the door of Harry’s chamber.
All seemed satisfactory. Our hero was lying quietly in bed, apparently in a peaceful sleep. Ordinarily he would have been fast asleep by this time, but the expectation of a visit from his guardian had kept him awake beyond his usual time. He had heard Mr. Fox cough, and so, even before the door opened, he had warning of the visit.
Harry was not a nervous boy, and had such command of himself, that, even when Mr. Fox bent over, and, by the light of the candle, examined his face, he never stirred nor winked, though he very much wanted to laugh.
“All is safe! The boy is sound asleep,” whispered Mr. Fox to himself.
He set the candle on the floor, and then taking up Harry’s pantaloons, thrust his hand into the pocket.
The very first pocket contained the pocketbook which our hero had put there. Mr. Fox would have opened and examined the contents on the spot, but he heard a cough from the bed, and, quickly put the pocketbook into his own pocket, apprehending that his ward might wake up, and taking up the candle, noiselessly withdrew from the chamber.
After he had fairly gone, Harry had a quiet laugh to himself.
Mr. Fox returned in triumph to his own chamber, where his wife was anxiously waiting for him.
“Have you got it, Mr. F.,” she asked, eagerly.
“Got it? Why shouldn’t I get it?”
“Well, open it, and let us see what it contains.”
This Mr. Fox proceeded to do. But no sooner did his glance rest on its contents than his lower jaw fell, and his eyes opened wide in perplexity.
“Well, what are you staring at like a fool?” demanded his wife, who was not so situated that she could see the contents of the pocketbook.
“Look at this, Mrs. F.,” said her husband, in a hollow voice. “There’s no money here—only this piece of newspaper.”
“Well, well, of all the fools I ever saw you are about the most stupid!” ejaculated Mrs. Fox. “What you undertake you generally carry through, do you? After all the fuss you’ve brought down a pocketbook stuffed with waste paper.”
“I don’t understand it,” said Fox, his face assuming a look of perplexity. “Surely the boy told the truth when he said he had fifteen dollars.”
“Of course! Joel saw the money—a roll of bills, and saw him take them out of his pocketbook. He must have taken them out. Did you search all his pockets?”
“No; when I found the pocketbook I thought I was all right.”
“Just like a man!” retorted Mrs. Fox. “I’ll go up myself, and see if I can’t manage better than you.”
“Then you’d better take this wallet, and put it back in his pocket.”
“Give it to me, then.”
With a firm step Mrs. Fox took the candle, and took her turn in going up the attic stairs.
CHAPTER IV
MRS. FOX COMES TO GRIEF
Harry confidently anticipated a second visit to his chamber.
He was rather surprised when the door was again opened, and Mrs. Fox entered. Opening his eyes a little way, he saw her, after a brief glance at the bed, go to the chair containing his pantaloons, and put back the deceptive wallet. She was about to prosecute a further search, when Harry decided that matters had gone far enough. He did not fancy their night visits, and meant to stop them if he could.
Chance favored his design. A puff of air from the door, which Mrs. Fox had left wide open, extinguished the candle, and left the room, as there was no moon, in profound darkness.
“Drat the candle!” he heard Mrs. Fox say.
Then a mischievous idea came to Harry. In his native village lived a man who had passed a considerable time in the wild region beyond the Missouri River, and had mingled familiarly with the Indians. From him Harry had learned how to imitate the Indian warwhoop.
“I’ll scare the old lady,” thought Harry, smiling to himself.
Immediately there rang out from the bed, in the darkness and silence, a terrific warwhoop, given in Harry’s most effective style.
Mrs. Fox was not a nervous woman ordinarily, but she
