eting was not different from that which
Sam had given him daily for the past three years.

Once on the sidewalk, Mr. Peaslee turned to the right toward the
house of his neighbor, Mr. Edwards. Edwards was a younger man than
Peaslee, perhaps forty-seven. His business was speculating in
lumber and cattle, and in the interest of this he was constantly
passing and re passing the Canadian border, which was not far from
Ellmington. In the intervals between his trips he was much at home.
He was a stern, silent, secretive man, and simply because he was so
close-mouthed there was much guessing and gossip, not wholly kind,
about his affairs.

Mr. Peaslee found the front door of the Edwards house standing open
in the trustful village fashion, and, with neighborly freedom,
walked in without ringing. He turned first into the sitting-room,
where he found no one, and then into a rear room opening from it.
This obviously was a boy's "den." On the table in the centre were a
checkerboard, some loose string, a handful of spruce gum, some
scattered marbles, a broken jack-knife, a cap, a shot-pouch, an old
bird's nest, a powder-flask, a dog-eared copy of "Caesar's
Commentaries," open, and a Latin dictionary, also open. In a corner
stood a fishing-rod in its cotton case; along the wall were ranged
bait-boxes, a fishing-basket, a pair of rubber boots, and a huge
wasp's nest. Leaning against the sill of the open window was a
double-barreled shotgun, and on the sill itself were some black,
greasy rags and a small bottle of oil.

Various truths might be inferred from the disarray. One was that Mr.
Edwards was generous to his son Jim, and another was that there was
no Mrs. Edwards. Further, it might be easily enough guessed that Jim
had been lured from the study of Latin, in which pretty Miss Ware,
who was his teacher at the "Union" school, was trying to interest
him, by the attractive idea of oiling his gun-barrels, and that
something still more attractive--perhaps a boy with crossed fingers,
for it was not too late for swimming--had lured him from that. At
any rate, Jim was not there.

Mr. Peaslee, still bent on finding Mr. Edwards, moved toward the
open window. But he could see no signs of life anywhere. None of the
household was, however, far away. Jim was in the loft of the barn,
where he was carefully examining a barrel of early apples with a
view to filling his pockets with the best; the housekeeper had
merely stepped across the stree