ed
themselves a moment longer. They could not wait for him to get out of
sight, but, lying back in the boat, they laughed until the tears
rolled down their cheeks.

"Well, Frank, what do you think of him?" inquired Harry, as soon as he
could speak.

"I think the less we have to do with him the better," answered Frank.

"I did think," said Harry, stopping now and then to indulge in a
hearty fit of laughter, "that there might be some good things about
him; but a boy that can tell such whopping big lies as he told must be
very small potatoes. Only think of catching three hundred fish in less
than half an hour, and with only one hook and line! Why, that would be
ten every minute, and that is as many as two men could manage. And
then for him to talk about that pop-gun of his shooting as far as
across this river!--why, it's a mile and a half--and I know it
wouldn't shoot forty rods, and kill. But the best of all was his
hunting among the Adirondack Mountains, in Michigan, and having to
defend himself against the Indians; that's a good joke."

And Harry laid back in the boat again, and laughed and shouted until
his sides ached.

"He must be a very ungrateful fellow," said Frank, at length. "Didn't
you notice how disrespectfully he spoke of his father? He called him
his 'old man.' If I had a father, I'd never speak so lightly of him."

"Yes, I noticed that," said George. "But," he continued, reaching for
the basket which Harry, after helping himself most bountifully, had
placed on the middle seat, "I'm hungry as blazes, and think I can do
justice to the good things mother has put up for us."

After eating their dinner they got out their fishing-tackle again; but
the perch had stopped biting, and, after waiting patiently for half an
hour without feeling a nibble, they unjointed their poles, drew up the
anchor, and Frank seated himself at the helm, while George and Harry
took the oars and pulled toward home.

CHAPTER VI.

The Regulators

One of the range of hills which extended around the western side of
the village was occupied by several families, known as the "Hillers."
They were ignorant, degraded people, living in miserable hovels, and
obtaining a precarious subsistence by hunting, fishing, and stealing.
With them the villagers rarely, if ever, had intercourse, and
respectable persons seldom crossed their thresholds. The principal man
among the Hillers was known as Bill Powell. He was a giant in strength