"I am," said Henry Burns. "It's eight dollars and eighty-seven cents--marked down--they always are, ain't they? Half of that's four dollars and something or other apiece. Come in with me?" "Not much!" cried Harvey, turning red at the very thought of it. "I'll pay half, though, if you'll get somebody to buy it. It's worth more than that to me, to win that race. Well, if you don't beat all thinking up queer things. What put it into your head?" "Why, she spoiled hers, showing us how to come through that sluice, didn't she?" said Henry Burns. "Guess not," replied Harvey. "Spoiled long before that, I reckon. They're poor enough. Get somebody to buy the dress, and I'll pay for half, all right." "I'm going to buy it now," said Henry Burns, coolly; "that is, if you've got any money. I've got five dollars." Harvey produced his pocket-book and the necessary bills. "Gee!" he exclaimed. "I wouldn't do it for a hundred dollars. Go on; I'll watch you through the window." In no wise daunted, Henry Burns, whose critical study of the model and the garment through the window had satisfied him that the figure was of Bess Thornton's size, boldly entered the store, calmly made the purchase, ignored the inquiry of the clerk if he was thinking of getting married, and returned with it to his companion. "Say," exclaimed Harvey, "I don't wonder you learned to sail the _Viking_ quick as you did. You've got the nerve." "Now we've got to take it up there," said Henry Burns. Harvey stopped short. "Take that dress and give it to a girl?" he asked. "No, we won't give it to her," replied his comrade. "She might not like to have us--and I wouldn't know what to say, would you?" "Would I!" exclaimed Harvey. "We'll just leave it and cut and run," explained Henry Burns. "Then she won't know who sent it, and she'll have to keep it. See?" "It's most nine o'clock," remarked Harvey. "I'm going," said Henry Burns. "Oh, well, I'll stand by," said Harvey. "Let's be off, then. It's a good two miles and a half, nearer three." Shortly after, one might have seen the two comrades trudging along the road leading out of Benton, in the direction of Ellison's mill. They walked briskly, and in a little less than three quarters of an hour a light from a window on a hill-top warned them that they were approaching the farmhouse of Farmer Ellison. They turned in from the road that ran along the bank of the stream, and made their way through his field on the hillside, in the direction of the brook. "Does Ellison keep any dog?" asked Harvey, once. "I don't know, any more than you do," replied his companion. "Never saw any. We'll keep well down near the brook, though, so they can't see us from the house."