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Page 3
CHAPTER I.
THE IDEA SUGGESTED.
"There are no such peaches this side of New Jersey; and you can't get
them, for love or money, at the stores. All we have to do is, to fill
our pockets, and keep our mouths closed--till the peaches are ripe
enough to eat," said Robert Shuffles, the older and the larger of two
boys, who had just climbed over the high fence that surrounded the fine
garden of Mr. Lowington.
"What will Baird say if he finds it out?" replied Isaac Monroe, his
companion.
"Baird," the gentleman thus irreverently alluded to, was the principal
of the Brockway Academy, of which Shuffles and Monroe were pupils in the
boarding department.
"What will he say when he finds out that the King of the Tonga Islands
picks his teeth with a pitchfork?" added Shuffles, contemptuously. "I
don't intend that he shall find it out? and he won't, unless you tell
him."
"Of course, I shall not tell him."
"Come along, then? it is nearly dark, and no one will see us."
Shuffles led the way down the gravelled walk, till he came to a brook,
on the bank of which stood the peach tree whose rich fruit had tempted
the young gentlemen to invade the territory of Mr. Lowington with intent
to plunder.
"There they are," said the chief of the young marauders, as he paused
behind a clump of quince bushes, and pointed at the coveted fruit.
"There's no discount on them, and they are worth coming after."
"Hark!" whispered Monroe. "I heard a noise."
"What was it?"
"I don't know. I'm afraid we shall be caught."
"No danger; no one can see us from the house."
"But I'm sure there's some one near. I heard something."
"Nonsense! It was only a dagger of the mind, such as Baird talks about,"
answered Shuffles, as he crawled towards the peach tree. "Come, Monroe,
be quick, and fill your pockets."
This peach tree was a choice variety, in whose cultivation the owner had
been making an elaborate experiment. Mr. Lowington had watched it and
nursed it with the most assiduous care, and now it bore about a dozen
remarkably large and beautiful peaches. They were not quite ripe enough
to be gathered, but Shuffles was confident that they would "mellow" in
his trunk as well as on the tree. The experiment of the cultivator had
been a success, and he had already prepared, with much care and labor, a
paper explanatory of the process, which he intended to read before the
Pomological Society, exhibiting the fruit as the evidence of the
practicability of his method. To Mr. Lowington, therefore, the peaches
had a value far beyond their intrinsic worth.
Shuffles gathered a couple of the peaches, and urged his companion to
use all possible haste in stripping the tree of its rich burden.
"Hallo, there! What are you about?" shouted some one, who hastened to
make his presence known to the plunderers.
Monroe began to retreat.
"Hold on!" interposed Shuffles. "It's no one but Harry Martyn."
"He can tell of us just as well as anybody else."
"If he does, he will catch it."
"What are you doing?" demanded Harry Martyn,--who was a nephew of Mr.
Lowington, and lived with him,--as he crossed the rustic bridge that
spanned the brook.
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