"Or glad," murmured Peleg.

"Mum's the word, old man."

"Oh, I never say nuthin, Master Thomas; you know that," returned
the man-of-all-work.

A number of the other pupils had been let into the secret, and,
led by Dick, they ran off to the woods lining the Cedarville road.
Tom came after them, skulking along that nobody driving by might
catch sight of him.

Not quite an hour later Hans Mueller was heard coming back. The
German boy was humming to himself and at the same time throwing up
the new ball he had purchased for Dick.

"Burra! Burra!" thundered out Tom, as he leaped from behind a big
tree. "Dutcha boy heap big scalp-me take um! Burra!" And he
danced up to Hans, flourishing a big tin knife as he did so. The
masquerade was a perfect one, and he looked like an Indian who had
just stepped forth from some Wild West show.

"Ach du!" screamed Hans, as he stopped short and grew white.
"It's dem Indians come to take mine hair! Oh, please, Mister
Indian, ton't vos touch me!"

"Dutcha boy heap nice hair," continued Tom, drawing nearer. "Maka
nice door-mat for Big Wolf. Burra!"