“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.

“I guess that will do the trick,” murmured the boy to himself.  “Oh, yes, I’ll hurry back all right!  Guess I’ll have to if I don’t want Bill Hodge to catch me.”

There was a cunning look on Bob’s face, and the twinkle in his eyes increased as he set off down the village street.

“I hope he doesn’t get into mischief,” murmured Mrs. Henderson, as she went back to her work in the kitchen.  “If he wasn’t such an honest boy, I would be more worried than I am about him.  But I guess he will outgrow it,” she added hopefully.

Bob Henderson, who is to be the hero of our Story, was the only son of Mr. and Mrs. Enos Henderson.  They lived in Moreville, a thriving New England town, and Bob’s father was employed in a large woolen mill in the place.

Bob attended the local school, and he was a sort of leader among a certain class of boys.  They were all manly chaps, but perhaps were inclined more to mischief than they should be.  And none of them was any more inclined that way than Bob.  He was rather wild, and some of the things he did were unkind and harmful to those on whom he played jokes.

Bob was always the first to acknowledge he had been in the wrong, and when it was pointed out to him that he had not done what was right he always apologized.  Only this was always after the mischief had been done, and he was just as ready half an hour later to indulge in another prank.

Nearly every one In Moreville knew Bob, some to their sorrow.  But in spite of his tricks he was well liked, even though some nervous women predicted that he would land in jail before he got to be much older.

It was a pleasant afternoon In June, and Bob had not been home from school long when his mother sent him after the lard.  As it happened, this just suited the youth’s purpose, for he contemplated putting into operation a trick he had long planned against William Hodge, the proprietor of the village grocery store.