ever know how gladly he would
have eaten now, and in loyalty to his recent hostess he added the
first lie of his life:

"No, thank you very much, but really I am not in the least hungry. I
had a fine dinner at Granny de Neuville's."

Then, defying the inner pangs of emptiness, he went about his evening
chores.

XIII

The Hostile Spy

"Wonder where Caleb got that big piece of Birch bark," said Yan; "I'd
like some for dishes."

"Guess I know. He was over to Burns's bush. There's none in ours. We
kin git some."

"Will you ask him?"

"Naw, who cares for an old Birch tree. We'll go an' borrow it when he
ain't lookin'."

Yan hesitated.

Sam took the axe. "We'll call this a war party into the enemy's
country. There's sure 'nuff war that-a-way. He's one of Da's
'_friends.'_"

Yan followed, in doubt still as to the strict honesty of the
proceeding.

Over the line they soon found a good-sized canoe Birch, and were busy
whacking away to get off a long roll, when a tall man and a small boy,
apparently attracted by the chopping, came in sight and made toward
them. Sam called under his breath: "It's old Burns. Let's git."

There was no time to save anything but themselves and the axe. They
ran for the boundary fence, while Burns contented himself with
shouting out threats and denunciations. Not that he cared a straw for
the Birch tree--timber had no value in that country--but unfortunately
Raften had quarrelled with all his immediate neighbours, therefore
Burns did his best to make a fearful crime of the petty depredation.

His valiant son, a somewhat smaller boy than either Yan or Sam, came
near enough to the boundary to hurl opprobrious epithets.

"Red-head--red-head! You red-headed thief! Hol' on till my paw gits
hol' o' you--Raften, the Baften, the rick-strick Straften," and others
equally galling and even more exquisitely refined.

"War party escaped and saved their scalps," and Sam placidly laid the
axe in its usual place.

"Nothing lost but honour," added Yan. "Who's the kid?"

"Oh, that's Guy Burns. I know him. He's a mean little cuss, always
sneaking and peeking. Lies like sixty. Got the prize--a big
scrubbing-brush--for being the dirtiest boy in school. We all voted,
and the teacher gave it to him."

Next day the boys made another war party for Birch bark, but had
hardly begun operations when there was an uproar not far away, and a
voice, evidently of a small boy, mouthing it largely, try