don't care, either," replied Sandy, as he dropped from
the fence into the garden.

Richard climbed over with the same caution which his companion had
used, and after following him for some distance, reached a patch of
watermelons, which appeared to be the destination of this night
expedition.

"Get down on the ground!" whispered Sandy, who had already prostrated
himself. "You will blow the whole thing if you stand up there."

"Open the bag, and let's fill it up quick!" replied Richard, as he
picked a large melon from the vines, and handed it to the other.

"What's the use of picking such a melon in that?" snarled Sandy. "It
isn't ripe. Can't you tell the ripe ones by the feeling?"

"No; I can't."

"Stick your thumb nail into them. Here, you take the bag, and I will
pick them. We don't want to lug off melons that are good for nothing."

Richard took the bag, and placed the fruit in it as fast as Sandy
gathered it. In a few moments the bag was full, and the young marauders
commenced their retreat with all the haste which a proper caution would
permit. The bag was large and heavy, and it required their united
strength to carry it.

The garden proved to be something like an eel trap--it was easy enough
to get into it, but very difficult to get out. Near the melon patch
there was a piece of corn, by the side of which lay their path out of
the enclosure. They had gone but a short distance when they heard a
rustling in the corn behind them, and before they could make out the
cause of the noise, a strong hand grasped the collar of each of them.

"We've caught you, my lads!" exclaimed one of the men, who had seized
Richard.

It was an awful scrape: so thought the broker's son; and Sandy,
notwithstanding the difference in their social standing, was of the
same opinion.

CHAPTER II.

RICHARD JUMPS OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN INTO THE FIRE.

Richard Grant was the son of a rich man, but he was neither any better
nor any worse for this circumstance. He had been in a great many sad
scrapes before the one in which the reader now finds him. It was not
the first time he had taken that which did not belong to him.

In his father's garden there was an abundance of watermelons, and he
had always been plentifully supplied with all the fruits in their
season. He had, therefore, no excuse for stealing melons. There could
be no excuse, under any circumstances, for stealing. He did not need
them; he did not even want them.