the eyes smiled, and slowly, as though his neck were stiff, but
still smiling, the stranger turned his head. When he saw the boy, his
smile was swept away in waves of surprise, amazement, and disbelief.
These were followed instantly by an expression of the most acute alarm.
"Don't point that thing at me!" shouted the stranger. "Is it loaded?"
With his cheek pressed to the stock and his eye squinted down the length
of the brown barrel, Jimmie nodded. The stranger flung up his open
palms. They accented his expression of amazed incredulity. He seemed to
be exclaiming, "Can such things be?"

"Get up!" commanded Jimmie.

With alacrity the stranger rose.

"Walk over there," ordered the scout. "Walk backward. Stop! Take off
those field-glasses and throw them to me." Without removing his eyes
from the gun the stranger lifted the binoculars from his neck and tossed
them to the stone wall. "See here!" he pleaded, "if you'll only point
that damned blunderbuss the other way, you can have the glasses, and my
watch, and clothes, and all my money; only don't--"

Jimmie flushed crimson. "You can't bribe me," he growled. At least, he
tried to growl, but because his voice was changing, or because he was
excited the growl ended in a high squeak. With mortification, Jimmie
flushed a deeper crimson. But the stranger was not amused. At Jimmie's
words he seemed rather the more amazed.

"I'm not trying to bribe you," he protested. "If you don't want
anything, why are you holding me up?"

"I'm not," returned Jimmie, "I'm arresting you!"

The stranger laughed with relief. Again his eyes smiled. "Oh," he cried,
"I see! Have I been trespassing?"

With a glance Jimmie measured the distance between himself and the
stranger. Reassured, he lifted one leg after the other over the wall.
"If you try to rush me," he warned, "I'll shoot you full of buckshot."

The stranger took a hasty step BACKWARD. "Don't worry about that," he
exclaimed. "I'll not rush you. Why am I arrested?"

Hugging the shotgun with his left arm, Jimmie stopped and lifted the
binoculars. He gave them a swift glance, slung them over his shoulder,
and again clutched his weapon. His expression was now stern and
menacing.

"The name on them" he accused, "is 'Weiss, Berlin.' Is that your name?"
The stranger smiled, but corrected himself, and replied gravely, "That's
the name of the firm that makes them."

Jimmie exclaimed in triumph. "Hah!" he cried, "made in Germany!"

The