“No, take your choice about that.  Only the sooner the better.”

The two boys separated, John feeling quite elated with his success.

CHAPTER XIV.  A RAID UPON THE PIG-PEN

The more Dick thought of the enterprise which he had undertaken, the more he disliked it.  He relished fun as much as any one, but he could not conceal from himself that he would be subjecting Frank to a great deal of trouble and annoyance.  As he had told John, Frank had always treated him well, and this thought made the scheme disagreeable to him.

Still, John had promised him two dollars for his co-operation, and this, in his circumstances, was an important consideration.  Unfortunately, Dick had contracted a fondness for smoking—­a habit which his scanty supply of pocket-money rarely enabled him to indulge.  This windfall would keep him in cigars for some time.  It was this reflection which finally turned the wavering scale of Dick’s irresolution, and determined him to embrace John’s offer.

The moon was now at the full, and the nights were bright and beautiful.  Dick decided that it would be best to defer the accomplishment of his purpose till later in the month, when darker nights would serve as a screen, and render detection more difficult.

By and by a night came which he thought suitable.  A few stars were out, but they gave only a faint glimmer of light, not more than was necessary.

Dick went to bed at nine o’clock, as usual.  By an effort he succeeded in keeping awake, feeling that if he once yielded to drowsiness, he should probably sleep on till morning.  At half-past nine all in the house were abed.  It was not till eleven, however, that Dick felt it safe to leave the house.  He dressed himself expeditiously and in silence, occasionally listening to see if he could detect any sound in the room above, where his parents slept.  Finally he raised the window softly, and jumped out.  He crept out to the road, and swiftly bent his steps toward Mr. Frost’s house.

As this was not more than a third of a mile distant, a very few minutes sufficed to bring him to his destination.  Dick’s feelings were not the most comfortable.  Though he repeatedly assured himself that it was only fun he was engaged in, he felt very much like a burglar about to enter a house.

Arrived before the farmhouse, he looked cautiously up to the windows, but could see no light burning.

“The coast is clear,” he thought.  “I wish it were all over, and I were on my way home.”

Dick had not reconnoitered thoroughly.  There was a light burning in a window at the other end of the house.

The pig-pen was a small, rough, unpainted building, with a yard opening from it.  Around the yard was a stone wall, which prevented the pigs from making their escape.  They were now, as Dick could with difficulty see, stretched out upon the floor of the pen, asleep.