lusty
winds of autumn, the poplars, yellow and rust-coloured, still
flickered gaily, the wild rosehaws and frost-touched milkweed still
gave a dash of colour to the shrubbery on the river-bank.

There had been an early frost that fall, which had caught the late
wheat, and now the grain which was brought into the elevators had to
be closely graded. The temptation to "plug" the wheat was strong, and
so much of it was being done that the elevator men were suspicious of
every one.

Young Tom Steadman was weighing wheat in the Farmers' Elevator while
the busy time was on, and although there was no outward hostility
between him and Bud Perkins, still his was too small a nature to
forget the thrashing that Bud had given him at the school two years
ago, and, according to Tom's code of ethics, it would be a very fine
way to get even if he could catch Bud selling "plugged" wheat.

The first load that Bud brought in Tom asked him if he had plugged
it. Bud replied quite hotly that he had not.

"I suppose," said Tom, "you stopped all that since you joined the
Church."

Bud's face flushed, but he controlled his temper and answered: "Yes,
that's what stopped me, and I'm not ashamed to say so."

The manager of the elevator, who was present, looked at him in
surprise. "Were you ever caught?" he asked.

"No," said Bud; "I was not."

"Well, then, you're a fool to ever admit that you did it," he said
severely.

"I can't help that," Bud said. "I am not going to lie about it."

"Well, it makes people suspicious of you to know you ever did it,
that's all," Mr. Johnston said.

"You are welcome to watch me. I am not asking you to take my word for
it," Bud replied.

"You're a queer lad," said the elevator man.

Bud's wheat was closely examined, and found to be of uniform quality.

The wheat went up to the dollar mark and Thomas Perkins decided to
rush his in to the elevator at once. He stayed at home himself and
filled the bags while Bud did the marketing.

All went well for a week. Contrary to his own words about being
suspicious of Bud, the elevator "boss" was, in his own mind,
confident of the boy's honesty.

One day, just as Bud's second last bag was thrown in, young Steadman
gave a cry of delight, and picked out a handful. Number II Northern
was the grading that Bud had been getting all the week. Young
Steadman showed it triumphantly to the elevator "boss" who examined
it closely. _It was frozen wheat!_

Bud was gath