ficulty in seeing the path before him.
Besides, the old horse knew his way home.

He drove on some eighth of a mile. Suddenly he felt that the wagon
was not running true. One of the wheels was yawing. He drew in the old
horse; but he was not quick enough.

The nigh forward wheel rolled off the end of the axle, and down came the
wagon with a crash!

Hiram was thrown forward and came sprawling--on hands and knees--upon
the ground, while the wheel rolled into the ditch. He was little hurt,
although the accident might have been serious.

And in truth, he knew it to be no accident. A burr does not easily work
off the end of an axle. He had greased the old wagon just before he
started for the store, and he knew he had replaced each nut carefully.

This was a deliberately malicious trick--no boy's joke like the tying of
the rope to his wagon seat. And the axle was broken. Although he had
no lantern he could see that the wagon could not be used again without
being repaired.

"Who did it?" was Hiram's unspoken question, as he slowly unharnessed
the old horse, and then dragged the broken wagon entirely out of the
road so that it would not be an obstruction for other vehicles.

His mind set instantly upon Pete Dickerson. He had not seen the boy
when he came out of the crossroads store. If the fellow had removed this
burr, he had done it without anybody seeing him, and had then run home.

The young farmer, much disturbed over this incident, mounted the back
of the old horse, and paced home. He only told Mrs. Atterson that he had
met with an accident and that the light wagon would have to be repaired
before it could be used again.

That necessitated their going to town on Monday in the heavy wagon. And
Hiram dragged the spring wagon to the blacksmith shop for repairs, on
the way.

But before that, the enemy in the dark had struck again. When Hiram
went to the barnyard to water the stock, Sunday morning, he found that
somebody had been bothering the pump.

The bucket, or pump-valve, was gone. He had to take it apart, cut a new
valve out of sole leather, and put the pump together again.

"We'll have to get a cross dog, if we remain here," he told Mrs.
Atterson. "There is somebody in the neighborhood who means us harm."

"Them Dickersons!" exclaimed Mrs. Atterson.

"Perhaps. That Pete, maybe. If I once caught him up to his tricks I'd
make him sorry enough."

"Tell the constable, Hi," cried Sister, angrily.

"That wo