ne undecided as to which way to go, for the thief
might just as likely have passed to the left or right of these to
another part of the village as have entered one of them.

He looked for the footprints, but they were only visible in the
freshly-hoed field. There was not a sign in the hard road, and feeling
now that he was at fault, he walked slowly down the lane, and then
returned along the path close in front of the cottages. Just as he
reached the gate leading into the patch of garden belonging to the one
with the open door, and from which came the crackling of burning wood,
his attention was taken by the loud yawning of some one within, and a
large screw lying upon the crossbar of the palings which separated this
garden from the next.

This screw was about four yards from the little gate, and it might have
belonged to the occupants, but, as Tom darted in, certain that it was
part of the plunder, he saw that it was muddy and wet, and just in front
of him there was its imprint in the damp path, where it had evidently
been trampled in and then picked out.

Tom felt certain now; and just then the little gate swung to, giving a
bang which brought the yawner to the doorway in the person of the big
lad who had shouted after Uncle Richard on the afternoon of Tom's first
arrival, and next morning had been caught poaching. In fact, there was
a ferrets' cage under the window with a couple of the creatures
thrusting out their little pink noses as if asking to be fed.

The boys' eyes met, and there was no sleepiness in the bigger one's eyes
as he caught sight of the screw in Tom's hand.

"Here!" he cried, rushing at him and trying to seize the piece of iron;
"what are you doing here? That's mine."

"No, it isn't," cried Tom sturdily. "How did it come here?"

"What's that to you? You give that here, or it'll be the worse for
you."

"Where did you get it?" cried Tom.

"It's no business of yours," cried the lad savagely. "Give it up, will
yer."

He seized Tom by the collar with both hands, and tried then to snatch
away the screw, but Tom held on with his spirit rising; and as the
struggle went on, in another minute he would have been striking out
fiercely, had not there been an interruption in the arrival of the old
woman with the newly-filled kettle.

"Here, what's this?" she croaked, in a peculiarly hoarse voice; and as
Tom looked round he found himself face to face with a keen-eyed,
swarthy, wrinkled old wom