hrough my cornfield to-day, and now you've got to pay
the damages."

"My son is not a scallywag," Mr. Mason declared, "and if you call him
names like loafer and scallywag I'll make you pay damages."

"Oh! you will, eh?" the other sneered. "Think I'm afraid of an old
constable up here, do you?"

"Well now, see here," Mr. Mason said, "Be reasonable and do not quarrel
over an accident. If any corn is knocked down I'll get Tom to fix it
up, if it's broken down we will see what it would cost to replace it.
But the boys did not do it purposely, and it was worse for Tom than
anyone else, for he's all black and blue from the hard knocks he got."

At this the cross man quieted down and said, Well, he would see about
it. Mr. Trimble was one of those queer people who believe all a boy is
good for is doing mischief and all a boy deserves is scolding or
beating. Perhaps this was because he had no sons of his own and
therefore had no regard for the sons of other people.

Mr. Mason went directly to the cornfield with his neighbor. He looked
carefully over every hill, and with a spade and hoe he was able to put
back into place the few stalks that had been knocked down in Sable's
flight.

"There now," said Mr. Mason, "I guess that corn is as good as ever. If
it wants any more hoeing Tom will come around in the morning and do it.
He is too stiff to move to-night."

So that ended the runaway, except for a very lame boy, Tom Mason, who
had to limp around for a day or two from stiffness.

"How would you like to be a jockey!" laughed his companions. "You held
on like a champion, but you were not in training for the banging you
got."

"Well, I guess Sable will make a fine racehorse," said Tom, "when he's
broken. But it will take someone stronger than I am to break him in."

The next afternoon all the boys went fishing. They had been out quite
late the night before to find the "night walkers" for bait, as those
little worms only come out of the ground after dark. Bert had a new
line his father brought from Lakeport, and the others boys had nets and
hooks, as most country boys who live near streams are always fond of
fishing.

"Let's go over to the cove," Harry said when they all started off.
"There's lots of good fish in that dark corner."

So the cove was chosen as a good spot to fish from, and soon the
Bobbsey boys and their friends were lying around the edge of the deep
clear stream, waiting for a bite.

Bert was the first