expert in their manufacture.

"Come," went on Mrs. Henderson, when she was satisfied that her
face was no longer adorned with flour, "I want you to go to the
store for some lard. Tell Mr. Hodge you want the best. Here's the
money."

"All right, mom, I'll go right away. Do you want anything else?"

Now Bob usually made more of a protest than this when asked to go
to the store, which was at the other end of the village of
Moreville, where he lived. He generally wanted to stay at his
play, or was on the point of going off with some boy of his
acquaintance.

But this time he prepared to go without making any complaint, and
had his mother not been so preoccupied thinking of her housework,
she might have suspected that the lad had some mischief afoot--some
scheme that he wanted to carry out, and which going to the store
would further.

"No, I guess the lard is all I need now," she said. "Now do hurry,
Bob. Don't stop on the way, for I want to get these pies baked
before supper."

"I'll hurry, mom."

There was a curious smile on Bob's face, and as he got his hat from
the ground before setting off on the errand he looked in his pocket
to see if he had a certain long, stout piece of cord.