language must be in action.
Watch her well by day and by night, old Sophy! watch her well! or the
long line of her honored name may close in shame, and the stately mansion
of the Dudleys remain a hissing and a reproach till its roof is buried in
its cellar!

CHAPTER XXIV.

ON HIS TRACKS.

"Able!" said the old Doctor, one morning, "after you've harnessed
Caustic, come into the study a few minutes, will you?"

Abel nodded. He was a man of few words, and he knew that the "will you"
did not require an answer, being the true New-England way of rounding the
corners of an employer's order,--a tribute to the personal independence
of an American citizen.

The hired man came into the study in the course of a few minutes. His
face was perfectly still, and he waited to be spoken to; but the Doctor's
eye detected a certain meaning in his expression, which looked as if he
had something to communicate.

"Well?" said the Doctor.

"He's up to mischief o' some kind, I guess," said Abel. "I jest happened
daown by the mansion-haouse last night, 'n' he come aout o' the gate on
that queer-lookin' creator' o' his. I watched him, 'n' he rid, very
slow, all raoun' by the Institoot, 'n' acted as ef he was spyin' abaout.
He looks to me like a man that's calc'latin' to do some kind of ill-turn
to somebody. I should n't like to have him raoun' me, 'f there wa'n't a
pitchfork or an eel-spear or some sech weep'n within reach. He may be
all right; but I don't like his looks, 'n' I don't see what he's lurkin'
raoun' the Institoot for, after folks is abed."

"Have you watched him pretty close for the last few days?" said the
Doctor.

"W'll, yes,--I've had my eye on him consid'ble o' the time. I haf to be
pooty shy abaout it, or he'll find aout th't I'm on his tracks. I don'
want him to get a spite ag'inst me, 'f I c'n help it; he looks to me like
one o' them kind that kerries what they call slung-shot, 'n' hits ye on
the side o' th' head with 'em so suddin y' never know what hurts ye."

"Why," said the Doctor, sharply,--"have you ever seen him with any such
weapon about him?"

"W'll, no,--I caan't say that I hev," Abel answered. "On'y he looks kin'
o' dangerous. Maybe he's all jest 'z he ought to be,--I caan't say that
he a'n't,--but he's aout late nights, 'n' lurkin' raonn' jest 'z ef he
was spyin' somebody, 'n' somehaow I caan't help mistrustin' them
Portagee-lookin' fellahs. I caan't keep the run o' this chap all the
t