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called Harry hoarsely over the snow. "Hey?" answered Reade, and all four came to a halt. "There's a rabbit," called Harry softly, pointing. "Bless me, so there is," agreed Tom. "Well, why don't you shoot it? What are you carrying that air rifle for?" "To oblige you, I guess," responded Tom, not making any motion to raise the rifle. "If you want to shoot the rabbit, come here and get the rifle." "If I move it will scare him away," protested Hazelton. "Quick! Get him before he goes off on a run!" Sighting, Tom raised the rifle, glancing through the sights at the little white furred thing. "Confound him! He looks too cute for anything," muttered Tom. "I haven't the heart----" Abruptly Reade lowered the air rifle. "See here, Harry, if your mouth is watering for rabbit stew you come here and get the gun, and do the shooting yourself. I'd feel like a criminal, taking the life of that cute, innocent little thing!" "Huh!" growled Harry. "Come here and get the rifle, if you want to shoot," insisted Tom. Harry looked about as queer as he felt, for a moment. Then, picking up a piece of branch that had blown from a tree, Hazelton shied it at the rabbit, which promptly scampered away. "That's much the better way to go hunting," nodded Dick approvingly. After that no more was said about hunting. Tom continued to carry the air rifle, though plainly the weapon was all for show. By and by the Grammar School boys came across a pond, an eighth of a mile wide, with a brook emptying into it. "It will be worth while bringing the tackle to this place to-morrow, and trying for fish," proposed Dick. "And then, if you get one, you'll get a tender hearted streak and put it right back in the water," grumbled Harry. "Perhaps," Dick laughed. "But say, fellows, the sun is setting, and we're a good way from camp. Hadn't we better turn back?" "My empty stomach says 'yes,'" nodded Darrin. So the youngsters trudged back over their course. It was dark before they got near the log cabin. "Ha, ha, ha!" came a croaking laugh from inside the cabin as Dick and his chums neared the door. "That's a good one." "Hen Dutcher's voice!" muttered Dave. "How on earth did that fellow get back here?" Dick reached for the latch-string, opening the door. Then these four Grammar School boys received a big surprise. Hen Dutcher was there, but so were Fred Ripley, Bert Dodge and a half dozen other young fellows, all of th
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