"Indeed!" And Duncan put as much of a sneer as was possible in the
word.

"Yes, indeed. Widow Canby pays me for taking care of her orchard, and
that includes keeping an eye on these pear trees," and I approached
the tree upon the lowest branch of which Duncan was standing.

"Humph! You think you're mighty big!" he blustered, as he jumped to
the ground. "What right has a fellow like you to talk to me in this
manner? You are getting too big for your boots."

"I don't think so. I'm guarding this property, and I want you to hand
over what you've taken and leave the premises," I retorted, for I did
not fancy the style in which I was being addressed.

"Pooh! Do you expect me to pay any attention to that?"

"You had better, Duncan. If you don't you may get into trouble."

"I suppose you intend to tell the widow what I've done."

"I certainly shall; unless you do as I've told you to."

Duncan bit his lip. "How do you know but what the widow said I could
have the pears?" he ventured.

"If she did, it's all right," I returned, astonished, not so much over
the fact that Widow Canby had granted the permission, as that such a
high-toned young gentleman as Duncan Woodward should desire that
privilege.