Reader, have you ever tasted spice-draught? Its basic principle is peppermint. To this is added cinnamon, cloves, cassia, and a liberal dash of cayenne pepper. "Temp'rance toddy," I have heard it called, but there is nothing temperate about it. "S'archin'" is the adjective Pippin used. "Take a good swig!" he urged, putting the bottle to the boy's lips. "It's hot stuff, I tell ye!" The boy drank; next moment he was on his feet, coughing, dancing round, and holding his throat. A howl of anguish broke from him, but Pippin checked it with a hand over his mouth. "Easy, boy, easy! 'Twill het you up good; nothin' like it, Mis'--that is, they claim. Don't you feel it livenin' of you up? That's hearty! Now you'll find your legs. Lean against me if you're wobbly still. Time we was on our job! Foller, Red Ruffi'n!" As they went along, Pippin explained the nature of the job. A soft snap, just the thing for a green hand. Nice, quiet folks, sound sleepers, old-fashioned lock--pick it with one hand while you eat your dinner with the other. Honest, if he didn't feel that Red Ruffi'n _needed_ a soft snap, he wouldn't hardly have had the heart to ease them, they _was_ such nice folks. Been real good to him, too, and would be to any one come nigh 'em, but Red Ruffi'n was his pal, and pals were bound to see each other through. "S'pose--s'pose we was pinched!" said Red Ruffi'n, stumbling along over the plashy ground. "What would--" "Shoreham!" Pippin gave a lively sketch of the place; the Red Ruffian shuddered and coughed. "Moonlighter," he said, after a pause; "I hadn't ought to get you into this. I--I ain't feelin' well, either; s'pose we--what say?" Pippin took his arm with a grip as firm as it was quiet. "Testin' me, are ye?" he laughed. "Tryin' to see if I'd crawl--what? There's no crawl in me, not an inch! Just wait till we get in where it's warm and dry, and you'll see things different: not but I know you was only foolin'. Crawl _now_, when everything's all ready? Gee! I would be a softy, wouldn't I? Here's the gully! Now you go first and I'll foller and keep watch behind; stop when you hear me peep like a chicken!" With faltering steps the unhappy Ruffian crept along the gully, keeping well in the shadow, starting at every stray cat, every scrap of wind-whisked paper. Pippin, stepping lightly and softly a few yards behind, whistled noiselessly, and pursued an imaginary conversation with Mrs. Baxter. "Just you trust me, Mis' Baxter, and you'll see. Why, you don't think I'd take all this trouble, and _give_ all this trouble, if I weren't certain sure that I was right? 'He leadeth me,' you know, ma'am, and the Lord is sure leadin' me this time. There's no harm will come of it, but only good, if I'm not a bonehead from Bonetown. Now see--" He peeped low, like a day-old chicken; the slinking figure in advance stopped.