"No."

   And, with a guilty look, Taddy put the kite-frame behind him.

   Ducklow considered. The peddler had turned up a cross-street: he would probably turn down again and stop at the house, after all: Mrs. Ducklow might by that time

   be at home: then the sale of old papers would be very likely to take place. Ducklow thought of leaving word that he did not wish any old papers in the house to be sold, but feared lest the request might excite Taddy's suspicions.

   "I don't see no way but for me to take the bonds with me," thought he, with an inward groan.

   He accordingly went to the garret, took the envelope out of the trunk, and placed it in the breast-pocket of his overcoat, to which he pinned it, to prevent it by any chance from getting out. He used six large, strong pins for the purpose, and was afterwards sorry he did not use seven.

   "There's suthin' losin' out o' yer pocket!" bawled Taddy, as he was once more mounting the wagon.

   Quick as lightning, Ducklow clapped his hand to his breast. In doing so he loosed his hold of the wagon-box and fell, raking his shin badly on the wheel.

   "Yer side-pocket! It's one o' yer mittens!" said Taddy.

   "You rascal! How you scared me!"

   Seating himself in the wagon, Ducklow gently pulled up his trousers-leg to look at the bruised part.

   "Got anything in your boot-leg to-day, Pa Ducklow?" asked Taddy, innocently.

   "Yes,—a barked shin!—all on your account, too! Go and put that straw back, and fix the carpet; and don't ye let me hear ye speak of my boot-leg again, or I'll boot-leg ye!"

   So saying, Ducklow departed.

   Instead of repairing the mischief he had done in the sitting-room, Taddy devoted his time and talents to the more interesting occupation of constructing his kite-frame. He worked at that until Mr. Grantly, the minister, driving by, stopped to inquire how the folks were.

   "Ain't to home: may I ride?" cried Taddy, all in a breath.

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