y would act. Besides, scraps of paper have
begun to seem worth something in Dock's eyes lately. The chances are
three to one he'll get it."

"Well, I'll meet you at just seven o'clock to-night at the old smithy,
and we'll lay the trap when we hear his whistle up the road. Dock
always whistles when he's out after dark. I think it must help him keep
his courage up."

The church bells had just started to ring seven when the two boys came
close to the old blacksmith shop that had been deserted when Mr.
Siebert moved to a better location.

They had chosen this spot because it was rather lonely, and there did
not seem to be very much chance of their little game being interrupted
by any other pedestrian coming along just at the critical time.

On one side of the road lay the bushes, in the midst of which the boys
expected to hide; on the other could be seen the river.

All was quiet around them as the minutes passed away.

"There, that's his whistle, Tom!" whispered Carl, suddenly.

Thereupon the other scout crept swiftly out upon the road, and placed
the folded paper where it could hardly help being seen by any one with
ordinary eyesight. He had just returned to the bushes when a figure
came hurrying around the bend, whistling vigorously as some boys are in
the habit of doing. Carl's heart seemed almost to stop beating when he
saw Dock suddenly halt and bend over.

CHAPTER VII

DOCK GOES FROM BAD TO WORSE

Just at that instant, as luck would have it, a vagrant gust of wind,
perhaps an advance courier of the prospective storm, swooped down
across the road. Before the boy who was stooping over could touch the
paper that had attracted his attention it was whisked suddenly away.

He made an ineffectual effort to seize upon it in the air, but missed
it and had to stand there, while the paper floated far out over the
river, to fall finally on the moving current.

Carl quivered with another feeling besides anxiety and suspense; keen
disappointment was wringing his heart cruelly. Just when their clever
little plot seemed on the point of working, a freak of fate had dashed
his hopes to the ground.

He had the greatest difficulty in suppressing the cry that tried to
bubble from between his lips. Even Tom must have felt bitterly
chagrinned when he saw the paper go swirling off, without having had a
chance to test its ability to deceive Dock Phillips, and perhaps lead
him into confessing his guilt.

The grocer's