of the word.

Cordially yours

GEORGE A. WARREN.





CHAPTER I

THE MYSTERIOUS BOXES


"What are you limping for, Bobolink?"

"Oh! shucks! I see there's no use trying to hide anything from your sharp
eyes, Jack Stormways. Guess I just about walked my feet off today, goin'
fishin' with our patrol leader, away over to the Radway River, and about
six miles up."

"Have any luck, Bobolink?" instantly demanded the third member of the
group of three half-grown boys, who were passing after nightfall through
some of the partly deserted streets on the outskirts of the thriving town
of Stanhope; and whose name it might be stated was Tom Betts.

"Well, I should say, yes. Between us we got seven fine bass, and a
pickerel. By the way, I caught that pickerel; Paul, he looked after the
bass end of the string, and like the bully chap he is divided with me;"