Hugh jumped in beside Mat, and with gay good-byes to
Kizzie and Prince they were off on their way to the country.

The bells of the factories rang out, calling the men to work. Few
pedestrians, however, were seen for the majority of the working people
lived in the streets nearer the river, while the merchants and
leisurely class occupied residences in the upper streets, along which
they drove. Occasionally an energetic maid was seen cleaning the front
steps or porch, and just on the out-skirts of the town they passed a
group of boys going the same way, who eyed them curiously.

"Hey, Hughie," cried one, "where are you bound for?"

"Berryin'!"

"So are we!"

Mat gave the grocer's slow-going nag a touch that livened him and they
were soon carried out of range of the lads.

"It's that Stony Road gang!" Hugh glanced round to explain.

"The ones who tried to steal our lunch that day? But I didn't see Mark
Griffin with them--he's your fish-boy, Alene," said Ivy.

"I guess he'll join them later on; that's his home!"

Hugh pointed to a low stone house that stood some distance in from the
road, beyond a well-trimmed hedge and broad stretch of lawn, with
grape-arbors and barns showing in the rear.

"Why, his folks must be well off," said Laura in surprise.

"Old man Griffin owns the boat-yards over in Westville."

"Well, his son might find better company than that, surely!"

"Mark's been away at school most of his life and when he came home this
vacation, the first thing we knew he was hobnobbing with that gang.
They steal and play cards and torture animals!"

"Horrors!"

"I don't think he would torture anything, he doesn't look like that
kind of a boy!" exclaimed Alene, warmly.

"Might as well be bad as in bad company," returned Hugh, with that
"preacher air" of his which Alene always found exasperating.

"Mark and Jack Lever used to be thicker'n flies, but I've not seen 'em
together this year," interposed Mat.

"Jack's fine as silk, couldn't stand the Stony Road pace, I guess!
Fact is, I haven't seen him for six weeks. He's never in his father's
store; must be out of town."

"Gee up!" interposed Mat. "If I didn't keep up a perpetual song, I
believe Old Hurricane'd stop still and never go on again; can easily
see he used to be a race horse!"

"Yes, he always raced the last few yards home for his grub!"

"He's doing splendiferous. Only for him we wouldn't be here, so don't
spurn the ladder by which