"We'll take a turn here, and walk along the canal toward the big mill-pond," interrupted Hugh. "That's always a favorite walk of mine; and, to tell the truth, I haven't been out to the mill-pond for a long time. The fishing there hasn't been very good this season, some of the boys told me. Besides, I've been kept so busy with my studies, baseball matters, and several other things I'm interested in, that I haven't had much time for fishing this spring. Nobody loves it more than I do, either, as you happen to know." Thad heaved a sigh, and shook his head. "No use trying to coax you, Hugh, when you've made up your mind not to let out even a little peep. A fellow might wheedle until he fell over, and you'd still be as hard as adamant. Yet it's right. Makes me think of the old saying that a single man can lead a mule to water, but a dozen can't make him drink--not comparing you to a mule, of course." They chatted as they walked, until presently the town had been left behind them. "Now I'll open up and tell you what's been worrying me," announced Hugh, suddenly. "The fact of the matter is, I was called over to Madame Pangborn's this morning after getting home from church. She told me a third spoon has disappeared!" "Great guns! is that so, Hugh? And, say, was Owen there on the day it went glimmering?" demanded Thad, frowning. "I'm sorry to have to say yes to that," returned Hugh, slowly. "It was yesterday it happened. She persisted in leaving the spoons just where I saw them. I advised her to do that, for if they were hidden away we might never discover the thief. As on the other occasions, Owen came in with a bundle for the Red Cross, sent by the same lady who had intrusted him with a package twice before." "All I can say is, it's getting a heap serious for our new friend, Owen. Hugh, do you think the poor chap might be what they call a kleptomaniac; that is a person who has an irresistible inclination to take things that don't belong to him, or her, and generally has no use for them after stealing the same? It's really a disease, I've read. Some very rich people are affected by it, particularly queer old ladies." "You're jumping ahead too fast, Thad," remonstrated Hugh, chidingly. "I haven't admitted yet that I suspect Owen more than I did before. In fact, these occurrences, such as his being in the house each time a spoon vanishes, may turn out to simply be coincidences." "That sounds just like you, Hugh. You're the best kind of a friend anybody ever could have. Perhaps now you've got a clue of some sort that you wouldn't mind telling me about?" "I've been wondering whether the culprit is a human being after all," remarked Hugh, to the utter astonishment of his comrade, who burst out with: