nce more in its place without having
heard a sound from the sleepers overhead. Having washed the buckets and
tools, he put them back where they came from, locked the door, and for
the second time that night went to bed.

It was about half-past six in the morning that Tom, happening to look
out of the front window, saw Yetmore coming hurriedly up the street,
like a hound following the trail of the sled. Stepping to the little
window at the rear, Tom peeped out and saw the storekeeper enter the
back yard, walk to the spot where the sled had stopped, and stand for a
minute examining the marks in the soil. Having apparently satisfied
himself, he turned about and went off down the street again.

"What's he going to do about it, I wonder?" said Tom to himself. "Reckon
I'll just mosey down to the store and see."

As he heard Seth coming down the stairs, he unlocked the front door and
stepping outside, walked down to Yetmore's.

"Morning," said he, cheerfully. "It's a bit early for customers, I
suppose, but I'm in a hurry this morning and I'd like to know whether
you can let me have a gallon of coal oil."

"Sorry to say I can't," replied the storekeeper. "Our only barrel sprang
a leak last night and every drop ran out."

"You don't say!" exclaimed Tom, with an air of concern. "Then I suppose
I'll have to go up to the widow Appleby's. She's got plenty, I know."

As he said this he looked hard at Yetmore, who in turn looked hard at
him.

"Maybe," said the storekeeper presently, "maybe you know something about
that leak?"

Tom nodded. "I do," said he. "I know _all_ about it; and I'm the only
one that does. I know the whole story, too, from one end to the other.
The widow has got her barrel of oil; and you and I can make a sort of a
guess as to how she got it. As to your barrel, it unfortunately sprung a
leak. Is that the story?"

Yetmore stood for a minute glowering at the big miner, and then said,
shortly, "That's the story."

"All right," replied Tom; and turning on his heel, he went out.

CHAPTER XI

TOM'S SECOND WINDOW

Mrs. Appleby never did quite understand how her barrel of oil had been
recovered for her. All she knew for certain was that her good friend,
Mr. Connor, had somehow procured it from Yetmore, and that Yetmore was,
as Mr. Connor said, "agreeable."

As for myself, when Tom that morning, taking me aside, related with many
chuckles how he had occupied himself during the night, I must own t