Wood-piling time had come again. It found a new barn and a new shed already standing, in place of the old ones, upon the Miller premises. The scorched house had been repainted and the blistered buggy had been revarnished. Thus far the damage by the fire had been made good. But here the work must stop, for no new Bob could fill the place of the old Bob.

Bob had long been put away; still Ned often dreamed of him, and while knowing that such a thing was impossible, was always expecting to meet him, suddenly, around some corner. No other dog would Ned have, although his father told him to get whatever kind he chose. To Bob—faithful, human Bob,—there could be no second.

The long vacation had begun, and Ned was making his morning attack upon his eleven loads of slabs—that annual visitation to which he was subjected—when he heard a familiar whistle, answered it according to the code, and presently saw Hal climb over the alley fence.

“Hello,” greeted Hal. “Got to work?”

“Yes,” replied Ned, gloomily. “Just look at the wood, will you!”

“Want to know something?” queried Hal—news fairly sticking out all over him. “Well, listen here. What do you suppose old Belton has got planted ’way off behind his house! Watermelons!”

He paused in order to give his audience time to swallow the startling fact.

“Whereabouts?” asked Ned, delight in his tone.

“Near the ravine, beyond the grapes,” answered Hal. “He thinks he has them hid, I guess; but I ran slap into them yesterday when I was taking a short cut to the creek. Come on, and I’ll show you.”

“I can’t come now,” said Ned, slowly. “I’ve got to pile wood till noon. But I’ll go with you right away after dinner.”

“Well, you come around, then,” agreed Hal.

Squire Belton’s “place,” at the outskirts of the town, was a standing challenge, for half the year, at least, to the Beaufort youth. Of course, the squire was only prudent in guarding his fruit as he did. He grew fruit to sell, not to donate to greedy boys. But they regarded him as a cantankerous, mean old codger, and perfectly lawful prey.

It was very tantalizing to trudge along the dusty road, on a day of late August, and to gaze helplessly at those trees laden with their delicious, beckoning apples! However, the squire’s big white house commanded this orchard, and its windows were ever staring, and the squire himself or some of his family never failed to catch the least wavering from the straight path of honesty—in this case the path outside the orchard fence.

In addition, the barbed wires of the fence were close together, and as tight as fiddle-strings—ugly things to scale when the squire’s vigorous yellow dog was coming full tilt.

There were grapes, too; and these were on the slope, facing the house, and in plain sight from the porch and sitting-room.

Orchard and vineyard stayed proof against nearly all plots and attacks. But now, thanks to Hal’s “short cut,” for two Beauforters, anyway, a new field of action was opened.

Hurrah for the melon-patch!

His mind filled with the bright prospect, Ned gobbled a hasty dinner, and made a bee-line for Hal’s house.

Together they took their way to the limits of town, and cunningly made a circuit of the Belton premises until safe from those prying, alert windows and the ever watchful yellow dog. Then Hal led his companion into the ravine that pierced the squire’s lands. Amidst a jungle of undergrowth they worked a course, and when Hal gave the word warily mounted the flank.

“There!” said Hal, when they had gained the crest.

In front of them lay a small, secluded area of low vines, with every few feet a smooth, green oval showing itself—peaceful promise of a fine feast to come.

“Isn’t this luck!” whispered Hal.

“Say!” sighed Ned, overcome by his feelings.

Having surveyed, they beat a crafty retreat. So very cautious were they, that on their way home they scarce even dared discuss the find. It seemed too good to be true, and might vanish.

That evening, when at supper Mr. Miller remarked that an extraordinary crop of melons was in view, Ned was so startled that he dropped his knife. Yet his father’s words had no reference at all to Squire Belton!

As the days passed Ned and Hal made regular visits to the melon-patch. When speaking of the patch, so careful were they that they always said “it,” and by “it” each knew what the other meant. Thirty yards was the nearest that they ventured to “it,” since this was the space separating “it” from the ravine. They kept their secret to themselves, deeming that they could manage the raid—and the melons—without help. Ned wanted to let Tom in, but Hal thought that two was enough, and inasmuch as the patch was his by reason of discovery, Ned could only yield.

Week by week the melons swelled. The exact time for making closer acquaintance with them was hard to decide upon. The raid must not be too early, and on the other hand there was danger that it might be too late. Finally, Ned and Hal could no longer stand it. Melons were beginning to appear in market. The moment for action had come.

The boys chose a Tuesday night as the date for the attack. Ned invited Hal over to spend the evening at his house, and to sleep there. As this was nothing out of the way, it drew no suspicion.

They retired early up-stairs, the better to talk. They simply had to talk, or they would have exploded. About ten o’clock, when the household was quiet and abed, they climbed out of the window of Ned’s room, scampered softly in their stockinged feet across the sloping roof of the little side porch, lowered themselves to the ground, hurriedly put on their shoes, scurried for the back fence, vaulted it, and at last were safely in the protecting alley.

There was no moon, and, old woodsmen though they were, their way seemed to get all mixed up, full of sticks and cans and holes and hillocks. Even in the most open road they were continually stepping on things that snapped or clattered, and they imagined that the whole country around-about must be aroused by the noise!

Faint in the distance, or near at hand, barked dogs of farmyard and town-yard. An owl hooted in an accusing tone, and Pete, Deacon Rogers’ venerable clay-colored horse, from his pasture wheezed at them through the misty blackness.

“What’s that!” exclaimed Hal, huskily, startled; and Ned, too, jumped at the sound.

Had they not been setting out to “hook” melons, they might have been braver. A nagging conscience is a bad escort, especially on a dark night!

They entered the ravine. What a ravine that was! Not very kindly by day, by night it was downright wicked! Every twig thrust up a finger to trap their feet; every branch shot out a hand to slap them in the face. And there was not a single guide-post. Darkness had swallowed all landmarks, and the boys could only guess.

When it seemed that they surely ought to be opposite the proper spot, they climbed the steep slope.

“Hurrah!” cheered Hal, beneath his breath, when they reached the top. “We’ve just struck it! Here’s the poplar we go by!”

“Sh!” hissed Ned.

As they crossed the thirty yards that lay between them and the patch, how the weeds crackled under their tread! At length they arrived at the fence bordering the little field; formerly a fence with sagging, swaying barbed wires betwixt which even the most awkward person ought to slip without touching, but just at present a demon of a fence which left a stinging scratch along Ned’s back, and with a tearing sound clutched Hal by the trousers.

“Jiminy!” exclaimed Hal.

“Shut up!” cautioned Ned.

And they were among the vines!

The only thing they could do was, carry off as many melons as they were able—one under each arm—and eat them. The chief reward would be the glory of having got ahead of Squire Belton. How mad he would be when he found, in the morning, that he had been outwitted!

The boys groped about on the ground, with hands and feet as happened to be most convenient. What is apt to be the case, the fruit which they felt now here, now there, did not quite suit them. They fancied that a bit farther on they would come across some better in quality. Since they could take only a small quantity, they wanted it to be high in quality.

So they proceeded, step by step, always in the hope that they would light upon the melon, a melon worth while.

“Cr-rash!”

“Oh, thunder!”

Hal had tripped on a vine, and had been sent sprawling.

“Bow-wow-wow! Bow-wow-wow-wow! Bow!”

The Belton yellow dog! Nothing was left for them but speedy flight. What a watchful animal that was!

“Leg it!” ordered Ned.

At the instant of the accident to Hal, Ned had been fingering a sphere of unusual fatness. Now with a jerk he wrenched it from its stem, and hugging it in his arms put his command into practice. He “legged it.” So did Hal.

All sense of direction was lost to them; they remembered not which was north or which was west; their sole thought was to escape the attack of the yellow dog. Off to the left they dashed, dimly believing that they were heading for the ravine.

“Look out for the barbed wire!” gasped Hal.

But they met with no fence, where they expected. Crunch, crash, stumble and plunge, through the vines, out from the vines, and into a clump of raspberry bushes! Cracky! How those bushes punished them! Yet on they ploughed, each for himself, Ned clasping his melon, and the yellow dog yelping in their wake.

Out from amidst the raspberries—and suddenly Ned was hurled backward for a complete somersault! A wire fence, fortunately not barbed, had caught him fiercely, raising a huge welt across his chest and another across his knees.

“Hurt you?” panted Hal, alarmed, bringing up just in time.

“Not much,” panted Ned.

With a rush they overcame the fence. Their hope lay in motion on and on, until that dog was safely behind.

“Bow-wow-wow-wow! Wow! Wow-wow-wow!”

He was hard at their heels. Gallant old fellow, no doubt he enjoyed many a hearty laugh over it all.

Hello! The vineyard! They had actually been running toward the house, instead of away from it. No wonder the dog was so excited.

Ned was a few feet in advance—a credit to his fleetness, but not to his courage—and in trying to tack and veer in a new direction he slipped, fell, and rolled down the slope, staying not for stalk nor trellis, clear to the bottom.

“And Jill (or Hal) came tumbling after!”

Still Ned clung to his precious melon, which by a succession of miracles was yet unbroken!

With a thump they landed in the dry ditch that cut along the foot of the vineyard. They vaulted the board fence just beyond, noting, at the same moment, that a light was glimmering in the upper story of the Belton house. Evidently the dog’s clamor had been heard.

The house was too close for comfort, but it gave them their bearings. Only a stretch of level pasture now remained between them and the road.

“Almost there! Keep going!” urged Ned.

“Bow-wow-wow! Bow-wow! Wow-wow! Wow!” bellowed their pursuer.

They imagined that they could feel his hot breath through the holes in their trousers. Hit or miss, they scaled the final fence—this time a vicious barbed wire thing which took tribute in the shape of both cloth and flesh—and for dear life pattered down the welcome road.

Towser’s voice became subdued by distance. Looking over their shoulders they saw the flicker of a lantern upon the squire’s front porch. They slackened their pace to a rapid walk.

“Jiminy!” puffed Hal. “Didn’t we track it, though! The dog couldn’t catch us!”

“I’ve got a melon!” wheezed Ned.

“Bully for you!” praised Hal. “Let’s feel.”

“It’s awful rough—it must be a musk-melon,” he said, caressing it with eager fingers. “Smell it.”

Ned obeyed.

“Well, it doesn’t smell very musky,” he muttered, doubtfully.

“I guess perhaps it’s a watermelon,” declared Hal. “But either way it’s all right. What’s the matter with eating it now? Nobody’ll follow us this far.”

“That’s a go,” agreed Ned. “I’m dead tired,” and at once turning aside, with a grunt of relief he threw himself upon the grass by the hedge that skirted the road.

Hal lost no time in copying his example.

Mellowed by the damp night air, from the scene of the late hostilities floated to them the fitful voice of the yellow dog, as he continued to tell his family all about it. Of course he made out to them that the boys were a band of determined robbers, whom he had surprised and put to flight.

The moon, just rising, was shedding an uncertain light over the landscape.

“Slice her open,” suggested Hal—referring to the melon, not to the moon.

Already Ned was fumbling with a battered jack-knife, trying to divide the prize in a scientific fashion, so as to give each some of the heart.

It was a mighty tough rind. Could the melon be green, after all! He worked as rapidly as he could, considering the poor light, and the impatient remarks of Hal, who was getting thirstier and thirstier.

Victory! He managed to stick his fingers in a crack, and with a tug pulled the stubborn mass apart.

“Here,” he said, passing Hal a chunk.

He himself took the mate to it, and carried to his mouth a handful of the spongy, stringy stuff.

The melon had not felt precisely right—and certainly it did not taste precisely right!

“Faugh!” exclaimed Hal.

“Wa-a-a-a!” exclaimed Ned.

How they sputtered! Their melon was a squash!

Words cannot express their disgust. They had missed the melon-patch entirely. All that trouble for only a squash! And now their chances had been ruined. The squire would be on his guard.

“Come on—let’s go home,” blurted Ned; and the two stiffly stood up. Stiffly it was, indeed, for their spirits had been most effectually “squashed,” and they began to be conscious of tokens of their recent flight. They were drenched with dew. Every inch of their bodies and faces and hands smarted and ached from the briars and collisions with posts, wires, sticks and stones. Their heads throbbed. They were cold, hungry, and completely fagged. They wished they were in bed.

Speaking scarcely another syllable they dragged their heavy feet along the well-nigh endless mile of homeward journey. As they entered the alley the town clock chimed twelve.

They scrambled over the fence, shinned up the porch—so tuckered that they did not care whether or not they made any noise—and tumbled across the bed. Such a soft, soothing bed as that was! Feebly they started to undress as they lay, but they did no more than kick off their shoes, and were asleep.

They slept like logs, until awakened by the rising-bell. Quite in vain would they make themselves respectable, although they tried their level best. All their scrubbings and brushings and pinnings really seemed to improve their appearance not one whit. The raspberry bushes and the barbed wire had been too thorough. Court-plaster, rather than pins, was needed.

They were late to breakfast; and this enabled them to escape the keen eyes of Ned’s father, who, having been a boy, would know!

However, Mrs. Miller—thoughtful mother—was waiting for them.

“Goodness, boys! What have you been up to?” she cried, as they neared the table.

It might have been the scratches; it might have been the clothes; probably it was both.

“Oh, we fell down,” answered Ned, sheepishly.

His mother scanned him sharply, but made no farther remark; nevertheless, Ned suspected that the end was not yet.

Squire Belton, or his yellow dog, must have talked around town, so that certain fathers heard; and certain mothers, having patched and darned some sadly-abused garments, must have exchanged notes, as mothers will: at any rate, in a day or two the Miller family—save Ned—had watermelon for dessert, but Ned’s dessert was a huge piece of raw squash!

And Hal reported exactly the same treatment.