Part of the money stolen from Mr. Smith was recovered, and the boys also received a reward from the railroad company. Their father had planned to send them to Westfield Academy, immediately after their return from journeying about the country, but his financial and other matters prevented, so the boys had spent the winter helping him. Mr. Smith’s business affairs were now in good shape, and he was quite well off, so he determined that with the opening of the fall term at Westfield, his sons should attend there. All summer the boys had been having a good time at various sports, of which baseball was chief. They were valued members of the Freeport nine, and it looked as though they would do more than their share in helping that team win the pennant. Only a few more games remained to be played before the season would be over. “And then for Westfield,” remarked Pete at the supper table that night, as they talked over their plans. “I hope we can get on the nine there,” said Cap. “Oh, sure we can,” declared Bill. “Well, just because you can pitch well in the county league, doesn’t say that you’ll make good at Westville,” objected Cap. “They play big college teams there, you know.” “Well, I’m not afraid of a college team,” said his brother. “We’ll make the nine—you see.” “Hark! What’s that?” asked Pete suddenly, listening intently. The sound of a tree toad came in through the opened window. “Bateye Jones,” murmured Cap. “Are you boys going out?” asked Mr. Smith, looking up quickly from the paper he was reading, as he heard the name of the lads’ chum. “We—er—that is we thought of it,” replied Bill. “Well I do hope you won’t get into any more mischief,” went on their father. “I’m about tired of hearing everything that happens in this town laid to ‘Those Smith Boys.’” “So are we, dad!” exclaimed Cap. “And half of the things that are done aren’t up to us at all.” “Well, perhaps that’s so. But be careful now.” “Yes,” they promised in a chorus, as they hurried out to meet Bat-Eye. And they really meant to do as they had said, but they were full of life and energy, and—well, you know how it is yourselves. Things don’t always turn out as you think they will. A little later six figures might have been seen hurrying away across lots in the rear of the Smith homestead. There had been some earnest whispering before their departure, and from the manner in which they hastened away it might have been argued, by anyone who knew the lads, that something was going to happen. Then, a few seconds after the six had melted away in the darkness, two other figures rose up from the deep grass where they had been hiding. “There they go, Beantoe,” whispered one lad. “I wonder what’s up?” “We’ll soon find out, Spider,” was the response. “Come on, we can easily follow them.”