ike to part with him in anger, for, to a certain
extent, he sympathized with him in his penitential confession. But,
more than this, he was afraid Sandy might revenge himself upon him for
the reproaches he had uttered.

"Let's not quarrel, Sandy," said Richard, as he laid the boat alongside
the landing place.

"I don't want to quarrel, but I won't be picked upon by you," replied
Sandy, with spirit.

"I'll take it all back. Let's be friends again. We have failed to do
what we intended, and perhaps it will be just as well for us."

"I'm glad you are coming to your senses. Do you mean to try it again?"

"We won't burn the barn, Sandy, but we must pay off Old Batterbones in
some other way."

"I'll do it. I'll hook his apples, pull out the linchpins of his wagon,
throw a dead cat into his well, or any thing of that sort, with you,
but I won't attempt to burn any man's barn again. No, never!"

"We'll fix him yet, Sandy. When shall I see you again?"

"I shall be round the wharf to-morrow."

"I'll see you there. Good night to you, Sandy."

"Good night, Dick."

Boys don't usually bid each other good night after they have been doing
wicked deeds; and Richard's parting salutation was a peace-offering,
rather than the kindly wish of a friend.

Sandy made his way up to Whitestone, and Richard again pushed off upon
the troubled waters of the Hudson. The Greyhound leaped over the waves
as though she was in haste to get out of the disgraceful business in
which she had been employed. Richard heard the clocks in Whitestone
striking three, as he grappled his moorings and made fast to them.

He landed from the skiff, and, like a thief in the night, stole up to
his father's house. Before he attempted to ascend the trellis, he
pulled off his boots, and fastening them together with his
handkerchief, slung them around his neck. He reached the roof of the
conservatory without noise, and then, to his utter consternation,
discovered a light in Mr. Presby's room. But the precaution he had
taken in the removal of his boots enabled him to reach his chamber
window without producing a sound. Then, to his astonishment and terror,
he found that the window he had left open was closed.

Some one had been there.

CHAPTER VIII.

RICHARD BEHOLDS HOW GREAT A MATTER A LITTLE FIRE KINDLETH.

The window of the chamber was not fastened, and when Richard gained
admission, he found the door locked as he had left it. The window must
the