As long as they could remember, the roaring flow and rippling ebb of the great tides had been the most conspicuous and companionable sounds in the ears of Will and Ted Carter. The deep, red channel of the creek that swept past their house to meet the Tantramar, a half mile further on, was marked on the old maps, dating from the days of Acadian occupation, by the name of the Petit Canard. But to the boys, as to all the villagers of quiet Frosty Hollow, it was known as "the Crick."

To "the Crick" the Carters owed their little farm. Mrs. Carter was a sea captain's widow, living with her two boys, Will and Ted, in a small yellow cottage on the crest of a green hill by the water. Behind the cottage, framing the barn and the garden and the orchard, and cutting off the north wind, was a thick grove of half-grown fir trees. From the water, however, these were scarcely visible, and the yellow house twinkled against the broad blue of the sky like the golden eye of a great forget-me-not.

I have said that the Carters owed their little farm to the creek. That is to say, their farm was made up chiefly of marsh, or diked meadow, which had been slowly deposited by the waters of the creek at high tide, then captured and broken into the service of man by the aid of long, imprisoned ramparts of sodded clay. This marsh land was inexhaustibly fertile, deep with grass, purple in patches with vetch blossoms, pink and crimson, along the ditches with beds of wild roses. Outside the dikes the tawny current of the creek clamored almost ceaselessly, quiet only for a little while at high water. When the tide was low, or nearly so, the creek was a shining, slippery, red gash, twisting hither and thither through stretches of red-brown, sun-cracked flats, whitened here and there with deposited salt. Where the creek joined the Tantramar, its parent stream, the abyss of coppery and gleaming ooze revealed at ebb tide made a picture never to be forgotten; for the tidal Tantramar does not conform to conventional ideas of what a river should be.

Had the creek been their only creditor the Carters would have been fortunate. As it was, the little farm was mortgaged up to its full value. When Captain Carter died of yellow fever on the voyage home from Brazil, he left the family little besides the farm. To be sure, there was a share in the ship, besides; but this Mrs. Carter made haste to sell, though shipping was at the time away down, and she realized almost nothing from the sale. Had she held on to the property a year longer she would have found herself almost comfortable, for there came a sudden activity in the carrying trade, and shipowners made their fortunes rapidly. But Mrs. Carter cared little for business considerations where a sentiment was concerned; and being descended from one of the oldest and most distinguished families of the country, she had a lofty confidence that the country owed her a living, and would be at pains to meet the obligation. In this confidence she was sadly disappointed; and so it came about that, while Will and Ted were yet but small lads, the farm was mortgaged to Mr. Israel Hand, who greatly desired to add it to his own adjoining property.

It happened one summer afternoon, when Will was nearly eighteen years of age, and Ted fifteen, that the boys were raking hay in the meadow, while Mr. Israel Hand was toiling up the long hill that led from Frosty Hollow to the yellow cottage. The figure of Mr. Hand was hidden from the boys' view by the dense foliage of the maples and birch trees bordering the road. Toward the top of the hill, however, the line of trees was broken; and in the gap towered a superb elm. Immediately beneath the elm, half inclosed in a luxuriant thicket of cinnamon, rose, and clematis, stood an inviting rustic seat which commanded a view of the marshes, and the windings of the Tantramar, and the far-off waters of the bay, and the historic heights of ramparted BeausÉjour.

Toward the seat beneath the elm tree Ted kept casting eager but furtive glances. This presently attracted Will's attention.

"What have you, young one, been up to now?" he queried, in a tone half amused and half rebuking.

Ted's eyes sparkled mischievously.

"O, nothing much!" said he, bending his curly head over the remains of a bird's egg, which he suddenly discovered in the grass. But his denial was not intended to deny so much as to provoke further inquiry. He was a persistent, and sometimes troublesome practical joker; but he usually wanted Will to know of his pranks beforehand, that Will's steady good sense might keep him from anything too extravagant in the way of trickery.

"O, come off now, Ted," exclaimed Will, grinning. "Tell me what it is, or I'll go and find out, and spoil the fun."

"It's just a little trap I've set for a fellow I want to catch," replied Ted, thus adjured.

"Well?" said Will, expectantly.

"Well!" continued the joker. "I've set a tub of 'crick' water--with lots of mud in it--right under the seat up there, and fixed the bushes and vines round it so that it hardly shows. I've sawed the seat almost through, from underneath, so that when a fellow sits down on it--and after climbing the hill, you know, he always sits down hard--well, you can see just what's going to happen."

"O, yes," grumbled the elder boy, "I see just what's going to happen. I'll have to fix a new seat there to-morrow; for you can't make a decent job of it. But, look here, I don't think much of that for a trick: There's nothing clever about it, and you may catch the wrong person. I think you'd better go and fix it, before you do something you'll be sorry for."

"Don't you worry your old head!" answered Ted, determinedly. "I'm watching to see who comes along. Do you suppose I'd let Mrs. Burton, or the rector tumble into the tub? What d'you take me for, you old duffer?"

"Well," said Will, good-humoredly, "whom do you expect to catch?"

"Is your head so taken up with scientific musings that you haven't noticed how, lately, Will Hen Baizley has taken to going home this way every afternoon, instead of by the short cut over the back road? I expect he's got a girl down at the corners, or he wouldn't be coming such a long way round. Anyway, when he gets to the top of the hill he always sits down on our seat, and fills up his pipe. I've been looking for a chance at him this long while!"

Will Hen Baizley was the most objectionable "tough" that Frosty Hollow could boast. He was a bad-tempered bully, cruel in his propensities, and delighting to interfere in all the innocent amusements of the village youngsters. He was a loutish tyrant, and Ted had suffered various petty annoyances at his hands for several years. In fact, the boy was looking forward to the day when he might, without presumption, undertake to give the bully a thrashing and deliver the neighbourhood from his thraldom. As Will Hen, however, was about twenty years of age, large, and not unskillful with his fists, Ted saw some years of waiting yet ahead of him. Such suspense he could not endure. He preferred to begin now, and trust to fate--and his brother Will--to pull him through.

Will raked the hay thoughtfully for a few minutes without replying. He was a clear-headed youth, and he speedily caught the drift of Ted's ideas.

"It'll be good enough for him," said Will, at length, "but you've got a good deal of gall, it seems to me, young one! Why, Will Hen'll pound you for it, sure. He'll know it's your doing."

"Let him pound, the brute!" answered Ted, defiantly. "Anyway, I don't suppose you are going to let him handle me too rough! I dare say he won't actually punch me, for fear of getting into a row with you--though" (and here a wicked twinkle came into Ted's eye, for he knew the pugnacity that lurked in his big brother's scientific nature), "though he does say he can particularly knock the stuffing out of you!"

"Dear me," murmured Will, grinning thoughtfully. "If he talks to you about it, tell him there isn't any stuffing in me to speak of."

During this conversation the boys had both, for a few minutes, forgotten to watch the seat under the elm tree. Suddenly Ted glanced up, a thrill of mingled apprehension and delight went through him as he saw Mr. Israel Hand approaching the fatal spot.

"Look, quick!" he exclaimed, in a gleeful whisper.

Will looked. But Will was not amused.

"Hi! there! Don't sit down, Mr. Hand! Don't!" He yelled, jumping into the air and waving his hay rake to attract additional attention.

But it was too late!

Mr. Israel Hand was tired and hot from his walk up the hill. He was vexed, too, at the prospect of a disagreeable interview with Mrs. Carter, who would not understand business matters. The seat beneath the elm was a most inviting place. From it he could see the whole farm which he meant presently to annex to his own broad acres. He was on the point of seating himself when he heard Will's yell. He had a vague consciousness that the boys did not love him, to say the least of it. He concluded they were now making game of him. Why shouldn't he sit down? If it was their seat now, it would soon be his, anyway.

"Impudent young scoundrels!" he muttered, and sat down firmly.

As the boys saw him crash through, and disappear, all but his head and heels, in a great splash of leaves and blossoms and muddy water, Ted fairly shrieked with uncontrollable mirth. But as for Will, he was too angry to see the fun of the situation.

"There," he exclaimed, bitterly, with a ring in his voice that checked Ted's laughter on the instant, "your tomfoolery has fixed us at last. Out we'll go next spring, as sure as you want a licking. Hand'll foreclose now, for sure; and I can't say I'll blame him. No use me trying to stave him off now!"

Ted hung his head, feeling miserable enough, and casting about vainly for an excuse.

"But I never--"

"O, don't wriggle, now," retorted Will, sternly. "You know you saw him in time to warn him. You wanted to get him into it. You just come along with me, and apologize. If he is an old skinflint, you've got to remember he could have sold us out last year, only I succeeded in begging off. Mother's high and mighty airs to him made the job twice as hard as it might have been; but you've made it impossible to do anything more. Now he'll have us out in a twelve-month--and I was just getting things so into shape that with two years more I could have saved the old place!"

As the boys climbed the hillside Will's face was very white, and his mouth twitched nervously. He had taken hold of affairs about two years before, stopped a number of leaks, and displayed great tact in neutralizing the effects of Mrs. Carter's aristocratic and exclusive notions. Mrs. Carter was a woman of untiring industry, most capable in all household matters, but superbly uncommercial. Having got the management into his own hands, and having entirely won his mother's confidence, Will was beginning to see a gleam of light ahead of him. If he could keep Mr. Israel Hand pacified for two years more, and yet prevent the schemer from imagining that the mortgage was going to be paid in the end, he felt that victory was his. Mr. Hand wanted the farm--but if he could win a reputation for forbearance, and get the farm not less surely in the long run, he would be all the better satisfied. It was thus Will had gauged him. The boy's ambition was to clear off the debt, and then earn something wherewith to finish his own education and Ted's. Now, seeing the whole scheme nipped in the fair bud by Ted's recklessness, small wonder if his heart grew hard. Presently, however, catching sight of Ted's face of misery, stained with one or two furtive tears, his wrath began to melt.

"Well, Ted," said he, "never mind now. It's no use crying over spilt milk. You hadn't much time to think. I know you wouldn't have had it happen for a good deal if you'd had time to think. Brace up, and maybe we'll find some way out of the scrape!"

At this Ted's face brightened a little, and he ejaculated fervently:

"I wish I wasn't such an idiot!"

"Don't fret!" replied Will, and the two trudged on to the little white gate in front of the yellow cottage, carrying grievous apprehensions in their hearts.

Meanwhile, Mr. Israel Hand had extricated himself from the tub. He was not hurt saving as regards his dignity. But his heart was absolutely bursting with righteous rage. And yet, and yet, it was sweet to think of the revenge that lay so close within his grasp. No one now could accuse him of being too severe. Public feeling would justify his course--and Mr. Israel Hand had a good deal of respect for public feeling.

He did not pause to remove one atom of the sticky creek mud that plastered grotesquely his rusty but solemn suit of black. Drenched and defiled, he felt himself an object of sympathy. He would not even remove the occasional green leaves and rosebuds that clung to him here and there with a most ludicrous effect, making one think of a too festive picnicker. Mr. Hand was quite lacking in a sense of the ridiculous.

When he reached the door he knocked imperiously, and after a second, rapped again. Mrs. Carter was busy in the kitchen. She resented the hastiness of the summons. Under no circumstances would she let herself be seen in the rÔle of kitchen girl. She clung to appearances with a tenacity that nothing could shake. Long practice in this sort of thing, however, had made her very expert; and by the time Mr. Hand had thundered at the knocker four or five times, his wrath getting hotter as his damp clothes got more chilly, Mrs. Carter had made herself presentable and was ready to open the door.

Severe and stately in her widow's garments, cool of countenance as if she had been but sitting in expectancy of callers, she opened the door and confronted Mr. Hand. Recognizing her unwelcome visitor, she drew herself up to her full height, and the little, dripping old man looked the more grotesque and mean by contrast.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hand," she began in tones of ice; "can I do anything"--but at this point she took in the full absurdity of his appearance. With all her stateliness she had a keen appreciation of the ridiculous, and it was from her that Ted derived his excess of humor and his love of mischief. Passionately as she scorned Mr. Hand, she could forget herself so far as to let him amuse her. Her large face melted into a smile. She struggled to keep from open laughter.

"Look at me, just look at me, at my condition!" burst forth Mr. Hand "This is some of the work of your two brats of boys, madam. I'll horsewhip them, I'll have them horsewhipped!"

By this time Mrs. Carter was laughing unreservedly. She was consumed with mirth, as Mr. Hand continued:

"O, yes! I don't doubt you put them up to it! I don't doubt you think it is a great joke; a great joke, madam. But I'll make you smart for it! You think there's no one in Frosty Hollow fit to associate with you, eh! You're a pauper, and your brats are paupers! That's what you are. I'll foreclose that mortgage at once, and out you'll go, just as quickly as the course of law will permit. This time next year you'll have no roof over your head, and everyone in the village will say I have done quite right by you! I--"

"Really, Mr. Hand" exclaimed Mrs. Carter, interrupting, "you have no right to appear before me in such a shocking condition. If you wish to talk to me you must call again, and in more suitable attire. Excuse me!" And she shut the door in his face.

Mr. Hand shook his fist at the big brass knocker, then turned to go. The boys were just opening the little white gate. Mr. Hand paused between the beds of sweet williams and canterbury bells. He was in doubt as to the attitude he had better assume to Will and Ted. Glancing along the road he saw the figure of Will Hen Baizley inspecting curiously the ruins of the seat beneath the elm. Here was an ally if need should arise. He decided on prompt retribution, and seized his stick in a firmer grasp.