hing the little sacks that hold the musk, and he passed them
to Bertie, with the remark that they were worth as much as the critter's
hide.

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Charley, examining them curiously.

"Flora ought to be here. I suppose the 'fumery' belongs to her."

"To the little miss, is it?"

"Yes."

"There is scent enough in one of them bags," said Jack, "to drive the
whole family out of the house."

Bertie thought if that was the case, one would be better for Flora than
two; so he put one aside and gave the other to Jack, who carefully
wrapped it in paper and dropped it into his roomy pocket. The skin was
then stretched on a board to dry, and, after receiving hearty thanks for
his timely assistance, Jack left the garden, feeling much better
satisfied with himself than when he entered it. He felt that he had
shown his good will, and that the score against him was partially rubbed
out. And so it was. Charley and Bertie were more kindly disposed towards
him than they had ever expected to be, and they concluded that he was
not such a very bad boy, after all.

"I believe there is good in every one," said Bertie, "if you can only
get at it."

"Of course there is," said Amy, quickly. "Have you just found that out?"

"I admit that I have always looked upon Jack as bad clear through."

"Same here," confessed Charley.

"Nobody is," declared Amy, with emphasis.

"It takes these girls to stand up for a fellow, doesn't it?"

"That's so, Charley. Girls in general, and our Amy in particular."

"She always did side with Jack; but she was down on me when the poor
calico turned over her garden."

"Why, Charley!"

"It is a fact. I leave it to Bert."

"Don't ask me," said Bertie.

"You flared up and were truly eloquent on the subject."

"I never was eloquent in my life."

"And you never flared up?"

"I did not say that. But whatever I may be, I am not a genius of any
sort, not even a poet."

"There's a sly dab at you, Charley."

"I have not made any poetry lately," said Charley, dubiously.

"Perhaps the fire in your soul has gone out," said Bertie. "Can't you
kindle it up again?"

"I am out of kindlings at present. Can I borrow of you, Amy?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," observed Amy, with a merry twinkle in
her eye.

"Stabbed again!" declared Bertie, who knew that Charley was in the habit
of borrowing.

Amy's purse being well fed, was always fat, and Charley's was ever lean
and hungry.