“I suppose that’s in order that a hold-up artist would pass the money by,” he chuckled.  “Well, boys, I wish you a safe journey back with your money.  We don’t often have any hold-ups on these quiet roads, anyway.”

Before leaving, Jack took pains to thank his host again, very courteously, for the settlement of the account.  Then the boys went outside, untied the horse, got into the buggy and drove away.

“Well, that’s a pretty smooth profit for one evening,” laughed Jack, as he turned the horse’s head into the highway.

“Forty dollars you make, in one evening,” commented Hal.

“Twenty apiece, you mean, old fellow.  You were with me in this.”

“But I didn’t have to do any of the talking, or anything else.”

“Just the same, Hal, you know we’re still partners.”

“Whew!” said Hastings, uneasily.  “I shall be nervous until we reach Mr. Farnum’s house and hand him the money.  Hold up a minute, Jack, while we’re near houses.”

“What’s the game?” inquired Benson, as his chum leaped down into the road and began to rummage about.

“These may be of some use to us in the buggy; just possibly,” replied Hal, returning with a half dozen stones, the size of hens’ eggs, which he placed on the seat between them.  “It’s the only form of arms we have, Jack,” he whispered, “and we’re carrying a heap more money than we could make good in a long time.”

“We’ve got only a few miles to go,” laughed Jack, easily.  “Besides who’d ever think of holding up boys?  And no one but Mr. Forrester knows that we have the cash.”

In the first five miles that they drove from Waverly Center the boys passed only two other horse-drawn vehicles and one automobile.  Then, suddenly, the keen ears of both boys heard a sound as of some human being wailing in acute distress.

A moment later they came in sight of the cause of the sounds.  A hatless, dirty, illy-dressed youngster of perhaps ten years stood by the roadside, howling and digging his soiled fists into his eyes as he blubbered.  At sight of the horse and buggy this small sample of human misery looked up to call, appealingly: 

“Hey!  Oh, mister!”

“Well,” demanded Jack, reining in the horse, “what’s the matter?”

“Oh, mister, mister!  It’s me mother!”

“What’s the matter with her?  Where is she?”

“She’s in there,” pointing under the trees just off the road.  “We was walkin’ along, an’ one o’ them otterbubbles must ha’ hit her.  She give a yell, then crawled inter them bushes.  She hain’t said nuthin’ lately—­an’ oh!  I’m dreadful scared!”

“Poor little chap!” muttered Jack, handing the reins to his friend.  “I’ll go in and see what’s wrong.”

But Hal also jumped out, hastily hitching the horse.  Then they followed their youthful guide in under the trees, to a clump of bushes.  There in the dark Jack and Hal saw a huddled mass of something lying on the ground.  Benson was the first to bend over, but Hal, also peering intently, was close at his side.