iven Gabe,
who had promised to turn over a new leaf.

Somehow the thoughts of Bristles seemed to go back to several things
which had happened to himself and Fred not a great while previous.

"That was a great time we had, Fred," he went on to say, as they fell
into a walk, with a hill to climb; "I mean when we worked in double
harness, and ran up against so many queer adventures last summer, in
boat-racing time. Remember how we managed to rescue little Billy
Lemington when he fell out of his brother's canoe; and how he begged us
not to tell a single soul, because his father would whip him for
disobeying?"

"Do you think Buck ever knew the truth of that canoe business?" remarked
Fred. "I recollect your telling me he accused you of taking his canoe,
and using it, because some fellow saw us putting it back in the place he
kept it, and reported to Buck. And he was some mad, too, threatening all
sorts of things if ever we touched his boat again."

"Say, d'ye know, between you and me and the henhouse, Fred, I don't
believe he's ever heard the truth about that little affair to this day!"
exclaimed Bristles, earnestly. "Want to know why I say that, do you?
Well, just yesterday he threw it at me. We were with some fellows on the
school campus, when the talk turned to canoes, and I happened to say I
knew mighty little about the cranky things, as I'd had no experience in
one."

"Oh! I can see how ready Buck would be to take advantage of that
opening, and give you one of his sneering stabs with his tongue,"
observed Fred, quickly.

"Just what he did, Fred," asserted the other, frowning; "he turned on me
like a flash, and remarked that he guessed I forgot a certain occasion
when I had enjoyed _one_ canoe ride, anyhow, if it was in a stolen boat.
I came mighty near telling the whole thing, how we had saved his little
brother from drowning, or at least how you had, while I helped get you
both ashore. But I stopped myself just in time, and let it pass by."

"Well," Fred went on to say, looking around at the dusty road they had
just reached; "here's where we draw in close again to Riverport, to
strike off again on the second leg of the run after we pass the Hitchen
hotel at the crossroads. I suppose I ought not to keep on, with my toe
hurting as it does; but you know I just hate to give up anything I
start. Perhaps I'll be game enough to hold out to the end; and, besides,
the pain seems to be passing off lately. I could even spr