as not certain that they were running
away till he saw people stopping and staring, and then starting after the
carriage.

The horses tore along for two or three miles; they thundered through the
covered bridge on Mill's Creek, and passed the Four-Mile House. By the
time they reached the little village beyond it they had the turnpike to
themselves; every team coming and going drove into the gutter.

At the village a large, fat butcher, who was sitting tilted back in a
chair at the door of his shop, saw the carriage coming in a whirlwind of
dust, and he knew what the matter was. There was a horse standing at the
hitching rail, and the butcher just had time to untie him and jump into
the saddle when the runaways flew by. He took after them as fast as his
horse could go, and overhauled them at the end of the next bridge and
brought them to a stand.

It had really been nothing but a race against time. No one was hurt; the
horses were pretty badly blown, that was all; but the carriage was so much
shaken up that it had to be left at a wagon-shop, where it could not be
mended till morning. The two boys were taken back to Four-Mile House,
where they would have to pass the night.

Frank worried about his father, who would be expecting them home that
evening; but he was glad his mother did not know what had happened. He was
thankful enough when he felt his brother all over and found him safe and
sound, and then put his hand on his pocket and found that Mr. Bushell's
money was still there. He did not eat very much supper, and he went to bed
early, after he had put his brother in bed and seen him fall asleep almost
before he got through his prayers.

Frank was very tired, and pretty sore from the jouncing in the carriage;
but he was too worried to be sleepy. He began to think, What if some one
should get Mr. Bushell's money away from him in the night, while he was
asleep? And then he was glad that he did not feel like sleeping. He got up
and put on his clothes and sat down by the window, listening to his
brother's breathing and looking out into the dark at the heat-lightning
in the west. The day had been very hot and the night was close, without a
breath of wind. By-and-by all the noises about the house died away, and he
knew everybody had gone to bed. The lantern under the tavern porch threw a
dim light out into the road; some dogs barked away off. There was no other
sound, and the stillness was awful. He kept his hand on the