everybody
keered for him, he was so winnin' in his ways."

"Well," continued Mr. Witherspoon with a smile, for he was certain of
his ground by this time, and the whip hung listlessly alongside the
farmer's leg; "we made so good an impression on Mr. Brush that early
this morning his man Bill came over with a basket, and also this note.
Please read it, sir."

He placed the paper in the other's hand; and leaning down so that the
waning light of the setting sun might fall on the writing the farmer
seemed to take in the contents of the note.

When he looked up he no longer scowled, but let his eyes rove around at
the faces of the scouts, all filled with eager anticipation.

"Well, I was wrong to say what I did, I owns up," he commenced, making
a wry face, as though it was rather an unusual thing for him to admit
being anything but right; "and since I promised to apologize to ye,
boys I'm ready to do it. Chickens all looks alike after they've been
plucked and the heads cut off; but 'cordin' to what that note reads
these here are Brush fowls and not from the Perkins coop."

Mr. Witherspoon nodded his head, and his eyes twinkled.

"Are you satisfied to accept Mr. Perkins' apology, boys, in the same
spirit in which it is given?" he asked, looking at his charges.

Of course there was an immediate response, and in the affirmative too.
Boys are not apt to harbor any deep resentment, once the accusation is
withdrawn.

"There, you see these boys are not the ones to hold it against you, Mr.
Perkins," the scout master continued.

"Did you see the thieves who were in your hen house last night, Mr.
Perkins?" asked Tom, as though he had some object in making the
inquiry.

"Wall, no, though I heard the racket when my chickens got to squawkin',
and run to the coop with a gun; but the pesky rascals had cleared out
with half a dozen of my best young fowls. I reckoned to larn where they
was, and I'm on my way to town right now with a load of stuff, meanin'
to make a few inquiries in the mornin'."

He grinned as he fumbled at the pocket of his coat.

"What have you got there, Mr. Perkins?" asked Tom.

"It's a boy's cap as was left in my coop last night," declared the
farmer; "and a queer lookin' one at that. Guess they might tell me who
it fits in Lenox."

Every eye was focused on the cap which he held up. It was indeed of an
odd color, and very likely the only one of the kind in that section.

Josh Kingsley laughed out loud