overtures. Jean and Helen had gone up to Norwich
with Mrs. Robbins for the day, and her father was out in the apple orchard
with Philemon Weaver, spraying the trees against the attacks of the gypsy
moths. Leastwise, Philemon held to spraying, but Mr. Robbins was anxious
to experiment with some of the newer methods advocated by the government.

All unconscious of Kit's intentions or Shad's eagerness to abet them, the
two rambled off towards the upland orchards. Kit had started Shad after
the trespasser, while she went back to telephone to Mr. Hicks. The very
last thing she had said to Shad was to put the vandal in the corn-crib and
stand guard over him until Mr. Hicks came.

"Don't you worry one bit, Miss Kit," the constable of Gilead Township
assured her over the wire. "I'll be there in my car in less than twenty
minutes. You folks ain't the only ones that's suffering this year from
fruit thieves, and it's time we taught these high fliers from town that
they can't light anywhere they like and pick what they like. I'll take him
right down to the judge this afternoon."

Kit sat by the open window and fanned herself with a feeling of triumphant
indignation. If Jean or Helen had been home, she knew perfectly well they
would have been soft-hearted and lenient, but every berry on every bush
was precious to Kit, and she felt that now was the appointed hour, as
Cousin Roxy would have said.

Inside of a few minutes, Shad came back, perspiring and red faced, but
filled with unholy glee. He dipped a tin bucket into the water pail.

"I've got him," he said, happily, "safe and sound in the corn-crib, and
it's hotter than all get out in there. He can't escape unless he slips
through a crack in the floor. I just caught him red handed as he was
bending down right over the bushes, and what do you suppose he tried to
tell me, Miss Kit? He said he was looking for caterpillars." Shad laughed
riotously at the recollection. "Did you call up Han Hicks?"

Kit nodded, looking out at the corn-crib. The midsummer sun beat down upon
it pitilessly, at the end of the lane behind the barn.

"Do you suppose he'll survive, Shad? I'll bet a cookie it's a hundred and
six inside there."

"Do him good," retorted Shad. "Probably it's the only chance he's ever had
to meditate on his misdoings. Don't you fret about him. He's just as husky
as I be, and twice as hefty. It was all I could do to ketch a good holt on
him."

"Oh, Shad," exclaimed Kit. "I d