“Don’t know.” Fred was angry with himself and spoke sharply. “Didn’t get much of a look at him and wouldn’t know him again if I saw him. Well, he won’t come back; that’s certain.” “Judson, didn’t I call you?” “Yes’m. Don, where are you? Come into the house for a minute.” “No; I’d best be going,” replied Don quickly. But before he went he whispered to Jud: “Do you know who the fellow was? It was Tom Bullard!” “Tom Bullard! The fellow who kicked your dog?” “Yes; I’m sure of it; I saw his face just before the candle went out.” Jud whistled softly. “Judson Greenleaf Appleton, if you don’t come into the house right straight this minute----” “Good night, Jud,” said Don and hurried out into the alley. A bell was striking the hour of ten o’clock as Don reached Marlborough Street. Almost no one was abroad at that late hour, and only here and there a light gleamed soft and yellow through the heavy fog. He passed the Old South Meeting-House and a few minutes later was in Pudding Lane. Mrs. Lancaster and Aunt Martha were just preparing to go to bed, when Don entered, out of breath and red of face. “Well, Donald,” said his aunt, “I was thinking it was high time you returned.” “Did you catch your skunk?” inquired Mrs. Lancaster. Don could not help grinning. “Well, yes; I guess we did.” “You guess!” Aunt Martha was mildly astonished. “Just what do you mean, Donald?” “It wasn’t a real skunk that was after Jud Appleton’s chickens,” Don replied. “It was Tom Bullard.” “Goodness!” exclaimed both ladies. And Don hastened to explain what had happened while he was gone. “Wasn’t I just a-saying,” said Mrs. Lancaster when Don had finished, “wasn’t I just a-saying, Martha, that you can’t trust a Tory out of your sight? Wasn’t I, now?” “You were, Hannah.” “And Tom Bullard--well, I always said he was a bad one.” And Don was thinking the same thing as he climbed the stairs to bed a few minutes later. CHAPTER IX THE REGULARS EMBARK Early the next morning Don was hard at work washing the windows at the front of the store. He had cleaned them on the inside and was about to start on the outside, when Jud crossed the square and hailed him. Over his shoulder he was carrying two fishing poles. “Where are you going?” asked Don. “Up to the mill-pond. I thought maybe you’d come along, so I brought an extra pole.” “Sure,” said Don; “but I’ll have to finish these windows first.” “I’ll help you,” Jud replied promptly and, setting down the poles, rolled up his sleeves. While the two boys were cleaning and polishing the glass Tom Bullard happened to turn into the lane from King Street. It was clear that he had not expected to meet the boys and did not want them to see him; for he had no sooner spied them than he stopped and made as if to turn back; but Jud’s sharp eyes had already caught sight of him. “Here’s the chicken-thief, Don,” he whispered.