"I ain't hardly had a decent swim all summer," Sube complained to Gizzard one day late in August. "It's all right to go in on the sly once in a while, but when you got to do it all the time it gets to be a chestnut."

"Well, why don't we fix up some other swimmin'-hole?" suggested Gizzard.

"The Unionville hole is the only decent one there is!" returned Sube bitterly. "And I'm goin'ta fix that Bigmouth Bissett so's he won't come botherin' when I'm in swimmin'! That's what I'm goin'ta do!"

Gizzard's interest was aroused at once. "What you goin' to do to 'em?" he asked.

"Never you mind! I'll fix 'em! He'll be sorry he ever monkeyed around me!"

"But how'll you fix 'em?" Gizzard insisted.

"You jus' wait! I'll show you!"

To tell the truth Sube did not then know what he was going to do to his arch enemy. But he had supreme faith that there is always something to be done if one can only think of it. Relations had been strained ever since the limburger episode. Seth Bissett had sworn that he would avenge himself, and he was everywhere regarded as a gentleman of his word in matters of vengeance.

Accordingly, whenever Sube and his companions had desired to take a swim, they had deemed it advisable to post a sentry in a place where he could command a view of the approach to the swimming-hole. And as picket duty usually fell to Biscuit's lot no matter who counted out or how, Biscuit made slow progress in mastering the art of swimming in the water with the same degree of skill he exhibited on top of the kitchen table. He was still inclined to swim like a fish—under water.

But he was a past-master at the art of "chawin' beef." He could untie knotted clothes faster than any other member of the gang—perhaps because he had had more practice—and he was familiar with every known penalty meted out to "the last man with his clo's off." He could tell with clairvoyant certainty who was "cracking stones"; and as a sentry he stood in a class by himself. He never slept, he never loafed; he never slipped back to take a peek at the game of tag. But when the enemy approached he quickly spread the alarm so that the swimmers could snatch up their clothes and retire into the bushes.

At first the element of danger was exhilarating; then it became bothersome; and finally, intolerable. It was at this stage that Sube made known his intention to fix Seth Bissett. Not long afterwards he went into the silence and emerged with an idea. Then his actions became suspicious, and his face assumed a look of inscrutable determination. The subsequent acts of Sube and Gizzard were baffling in the extreme. They repaired to the upper story of the barn for a conference; but when Annie innocently entered the barn a few moments afterwards in quest of kindling wood, Sube's suspicions were aroused, for suspicions are one of the most precious possessions of boyhood.

"Bet she's follerin' us!" he whispered.

Gizzard glanced cautiously about before he replied, "Prob'ly."

"Let's get out of here and go to some place that's safe."

An adjournment was thereupon taken to the midst of the berry patch in the rear of the deserted house, to which they had fled the night Dan Lannon was after them. From there they returned to the barn and obtained the ball of strong twine that Sube had used on his box kite, after which they took a roundabout course that brought them at dusk to the Unionville Mill.

They slipped across the bridge and plunged into the jungle back of the swimming-hole; and there they lay in hiding until the last laggard swimmer had left. Then they stepped boldly into the clearing.

After assuring himself that the coast was clear Sube drew back his sleeves in imitation of a prestidigitator. "Watch me closely, ladies and gent'mun!" he began in an undertone. "The hand is quicker than the eye."

He made a few baffling passes with his hands and produced the ball of string. This he held aloft between his thumb and forefinger that each and all might see.

"I have here a simple little ball of twine, ladies and gent'mun! A simple little—"

"Aw, shut up!" cried Gizzard good naturedly. "And go on up that tree 'fore it gets so dark you can't see nuthin'!"

Sube immediately began to climb the huge leaning willow that overhung the pool, protesting meanwhile that the hand was quicker than the eye. But after he had ascended a few feet he became singularly silent. Between the darkness and the foliage Gizzard lost sight of him completely, but he did not appear to be alarmed, for he lay down on his back and gazed up at the stars that were just beginning to become visible. It was some time before Sube re-appeared laboriously lowering himself to the ground. As soon as his feet touched the sod he snatched the ball of string from his teeth and spat vigorously.

"Rottenes' string I ever tasted!" he sputtered.

"Well," returned Gizzard, "if it's any worse'n chawin' a knot out of a porpoise-hide shoestring, I don't want any."

"But I got it fixed all right," said Sube.

Then Gizzard led the way into the shrubbery, followed by Sube, who carefully paid out the string as he went. An observer might have thought that the pair were intent upon outwitting a labyrinth; but assuredly such was not their purpose. For after retiring a few paces into the underbrush, Sube tied the string securely to a sapling, and detaching the ball with his knife, put it into his pocket; then, taking hold of hands in order to keep together they made a wide detour to avoid coming in contact with the string, and started for home.

The next night was a memorable one in the annals of the Unionville swimming-hole. None of the bathers present that night could think of anything else for several hours afterwards; and the pangs of some of them lasted well into the next day, and even the day after that. The thing began just as Seth Bissett was poised on the bank for a dive.

He heard a vicious hum, and at almost the same instant felt something strike him a stinging blow on the ear. Before he could so much as raise his hand to investigate, another pierced his shoulder. Then a broadside swept his entire body.

The other members of the party were at a loss to account for his strange actions, other than by the hypothesis that he had been seized with sudden insanity; for, with an unearthly yell, he leaped into the air swinging his arms and legs like the wings of an ungainly windmill, and landed, after a short but successful flight, far out in the water.

As he came to the surface he took up the yell where he had left off and again began the windmill motions to the accompaniment of incoherent profanity. Then he went down again. By this time his strange conduct was perfectly understood by his companions, for they had themselves been attacked by the same insidious foe. A swarm of yellow-jacket hornets, proverbially mad, had descended upon them without apparent provocation, and wholly without warning.

As soon as the wily yellowjackets discovered that their prey was in the water, they hovered about over the surface, striking at everything that came up. And while mankind is, in a limited way, amphibious, surely he makes no claim of extensive submarine ability. This fact the murderous hordes seemed to have taken into consideration in carrying out their attack.

By painful stages the victims worked their way downstream until they were out of range. Then they dragged themselves up on the bank and started what looked like a cartoon of a mud-slinging campaign. To an idle passerby a group of full grown human beings with their heads and often their bodies completely poulticed in black mud would have been an amusing sight. But on this occasion not so much as a suspicion of a smile crossed the face of any person present. An incipient laugh would doubtless have been punished by immediate execution.

The only observers who were not among the suffering participants were in no mood for smiles. They lay absolutely motionless back in the bushes and devoutly hoped that their labored breathing and pounding heartbeats would not be overheard. The affair had got away from them entirely. There was no telling what would happen if their part in it should be discovered.

Not until it was quite dark did the badly stung bathers dare to return for their clothes. The hornets were gone. And the languid stillness of the summer night was broken only by their grim tokens of exclamation.

Some time after the last suffering victim had dragged his weary feet down the path leading from the pool, two dark shadows cautiously emerged from the shrubbery.

"Let's beat it for home!" urged a husky voice. "If any one saw us around here they'd prob'ly kill us!"

"All right," breathed the other. "The quicker the better!"

"Do you s'pose any one ever did die from bee-sting?"

"I'm afraid so. One feller said if he didn't die before mornin' he might have one chance in a hundred—"

Next day Sube's face blanched with fear as he saw the undertaker's wagon pass the house in the direction of the Unionville Mill. When the fearsome news was broken to Gizzard he presented a ray of hope.

"I ast my dad last night if anybody ever died of bee-sting and he said he never heard of any; but he said if a person got enough of 'em he couldn't see why they wouldn't kill just like a charge of birdshot."

"Does he know about everybody that dies in the whole world?" asked Sube incredulously.

"Maybe not all of 'em; but he knows about a good many."

At this point in the discussion Biscuit arrived, and with him came a brilliant idea to Sube.

"How good do you know Hi Wilbur, Biscuit?" he asked.

"How good! Say! He used to work for us!"

"Bet you don't know 'im good enough to nail 'im for a ride when he comes along!" challenged Sube.

"Oh! Don't I! Don't I, now! Well, you just watch me! Watch me! I'll show you if I do or not!" howled Biscuit.

"Well," said Sube, "he jus' went down the street, and when he comes back pretty quick we'll watch you all right!"

"Huh! You watch me! Watch me!"

"Well," taunted Sube, "when you're ridin' with 'im and we're watchin' you, I'll bet you dassent ask him who's dead down the street—Here he comes now! Get on the job, Biscuit! We're watchin'!"

As the undertaker's service wagon approached with Hi on the lofty seat, Biscuit ran out in the road and hailed him. The team was instantly brought to a standstill and Biscuit clambered aboard.

"Fooled you, didn't he?" jeered Gizzard.

"Not on your life he didn't!" retorted Sube. "When he comes back and tells us who's dead you'll see that I fooled—Look!—He's gettin' down!"

Biscuit came running back to them triumphantly. "Ha-ha! What'd I tell you—!"

"Who's dead?" interrupted Sube.

"Nobody but ol' Miss Stebbins," replied Biscuit. "But I got some'pm better'n that to tell you!"

Sube and Gizzard waited in breathless suspense until Biscuit should speak. There was no telling what it might be.

"They've took Seth Bissett back to prison—!"

"What's that!" cried Sube and Gizzard in a chorus.

"Yessir! The payroll officer came this mornin' and found Seth's face all blotchy 'cause he'd been on two or three drunks lately, and the officer said there was a lot of complaints against 'im, so he took 'im back to prison!"

"Did they take 'im jus' cause his face was all broke out?" asked Sube weakly.

"Oh, my no!" replied Biscuit. "Hi says he's been drunk every night for a month, hollerin' round and bustin' windows and all like that!"

"Hear that, Gizzard, ol' sock!" cried Sube, lustily thumping Gizzard on the chest. "Hear what he said!"

For an answer Gizzard returned a jovial body-blow, after which the two boys clinched and went down rolling over and over in the exuberance of their spirits.

The gang was hastily assembled for a swim, and soon with unrestrained shouts of joy they were tearing along the narrow path, undressing as they went. Sube was the first one in the water. As he came to the surface his companions thought they detected a peculiar expression on his face, but they threw themselves into the pool without stopping to investigate. Then they were sorry. For the pool was unspeakably polluted.

They hurriedly dragged themselves out on the bank, making faces expressive of disgust and disappointment. Sube was the first to speak.

"It's all off for this year!" he growled. "We might jus' well go up to the spring and wash this smelly ol' water off'm us. That rotten ol' pickle factory's opened up—"

"Pickle factory?" asked Biscuit. "What's the pickle factory got to do with it?"

"Why, they'll be dumpin' their ol' smelly brine in the creek from now until next winter!... And jus' when we'd got the hole to ourselves, too!"