, with eyes sparkling mischief.

"Come, come! no nonsense this afternoon," cried Mr. Royden. "Go and
carry the jug to the men. They're wanting it by this time."

"I'm going right along, sir," replied Sam, starting, but looking back
for the mouse.

Mr. Royden went on. Turning presently, he saw the boy in hot pursuit of
the unhappy mouse. He had forgotten about his lame foot. He was leaping
about on the mown sward, and dancing this way and that, with surprising
agility.

The truth is, his ankle had been nearly well for two or three days; and
he had cherished the convenient habit of hopping and jumping only to
excuse himself from labor. Betrayed into running by a mouse, and by his
passion for mischief, he confirmed a suspicion which had already entered
Mr. Royden's mind.

"Here, you little rascal!" cried the farmer, provoked, but at the same
time not a little amused. "Sam Cone!"

Sam did not hear, or would not heed, so enthusiastic was he in the
pursuit of fun. At length he made a seizure, with his hand in the turf,
and brought up the mouse, screaming with delight.

"I got him! I got him! I g----Blast your pictur'!"

His song changed suddenly from joy to lamentation. The mouse had bit his
finger with its sharp teeth, and would not let go. Sam flirted, yelled,
and finally shook him off, with much ado. The animal escaped, while he,
reflecting probably that it was a small affair to cry about, became
silent, and squeezed the oozing drops of blood from his wounds, glancing
sheepishly around, to see who was looking at him.

"So, your foot is well enough to chase mice, is it?" said Mr. Royden,
with quiet humor. "Now, supposing you should take a rake, and help the
men with those win'rows?"

"Got bit!" muttered Sam. "Darned ol' mouse!"

"Shall we send for a doctor?" laughed James.

"His teeth went clear through!" complained Sam, limping again worse than
ever, and sucking his finger.

But he did not argue the propriety of obeying the farmer's directions.
He carried the jug to the men, and went slowly, limpingly, to work.

XXIV.

THE THUNDER-STORM.

Mr. Royden got upon the stack with James, and, to hasten this department
of the afternoon's work, Mark Wheeler and one of the laborers pitched up
the load.

They had now commenced drawing from the windrows where they had been
longest exposed to the curing process of the sun. On their return,
Chester complained of Sam's laziness, declaring that he was only in