heap, gave Dick a sharp look, and pitched it with so good an aim
that it hit the jug, and before the drinker could lower it, Tom had
hopped back against the cart, striking against the gun, and nearly
knocking it down.

"I see yow, Masr' Dick," said Jacob, grinning; "but yow don't get none.
Ale arn't good for boys."

"Get out!" cried Dick; "why, you're only a boy yourself. 'Prentice,
'prentice!"

"Not good for boys," said Jacob again as he finished the last drop
perseveringly, so that there should be none left; and then went indoors
with the jug.

"Dick--I say," whispered Tom as, after slipping one band into the big
open pocket of the hanging coat, he drew out a well scraped and polished
cow-horn with a cork in the thin end.

Chip, the dog, who was watching, uttered a remonstrant bark, but the
boys paid no heed, being too intent upon the plan that now occurred to
one, and was flashed instantaneously to the other.

"Yes, do," whispered Dick. "How much is there in it?"

"Don't know; can't see."

"Never mind, pitch it in and let's go, only don't run."

"It would be too bad," said Tom, laughing.

"Never mind--we'll buy him some more powder. In with it."

"No," said Tom, hesitating, though the trick was his suggestion.

Dick snatched the powder-horn from his companion, gave a hasty glance at
the workshop, from which came the clink of pincers, and pitched the horn
right into the middle of the blaze.

Chip gave a sharp bark, and dashed after it, but stopped short, growling
as he felt the heat, and then went on barking furiously, while the two
boys walked off toward the rough road as fast as they could, soon to be
beyond the reach of the wheelwright's explosion of anger, for they
regretted not being able to stop and see the blow-up.

"What's your Chip barking at?" said the wheelwright, as the two men
walked out, armed with great iron pincers, the wheelwright holding a
pair in each hand. "What is it, Chip?"

The dog kept on barking furiously, and making little charges at the
fire.

"There's summat there," said Dave in a low harsh voice. "Where's they
boys?"

"Yonder they go," said the wheelwright.

"Then there's summat wrong," said Dave, taking off his fox-skin cap and
scratching his head.

An idea occurred to him, and he ran to his coat.

"Hah!" he ejaculated in a voice that sounded like a saw cutting wood and
coming upon a nail; "keep back, Chip! Here, Chip, boy; Chip! They've
throwed in my po