Shuffles gathered a couple of the peaches, and urged his companion to use all possible haste in stripping the tree of its rich burden.

“Hallo, there!  What are you about?” shouted some one, who hastened to make his presence known to the plunderers.

Monroe began to retreat.

“Hold on!” interposed Shuffles.  “It’s no one but Harry Martyn.”

“He can tell of us just as well as anybody else.”

“If he does, he will catch it.”

“What are you doing?” demanded Harry Martyn,—­who was a nephew of Mr. Lowington, and lived with him,—­as he crossed the rustic bridge that spanned the brook.

“Don’t you see what I’m doing?” replied Shuffles, with an impudent coolness which confounded Harry.

“Stop that, Shuffles!” cried Harry, indignantly.  “My uncle wouldn’t take ten dollars apiece for those peaches.”

“That’s more than he’ll get for them,” added Shuffles, as he reached up and gathered another peach.

“Stop that, I tell you!” said Harry, angrily, as he stepped up, in a menacing attitude, before the reckless marauder.

“Shut up, Harry!  You know me, and when I get all these peaches, I’ve got something to say to you.”

Shuffles was about to gather another of the peaches, when Harry, his indignation overcoming his prudence, grasped his arm, and pulled him away from the tree.

“What do you mean, Harry Martyn?” exclaimed Shuffles, apparently astonished at the temerity of the youth.  “I can’t stop to lick you now; but I’ll do it within twenty-four hours.”

“Well, don’t you touch those peaches, then.”

“Yes, I will touch them.  I intend to have the whole of them; and if you say a word to your uncle or any one else about it, I’ll pulverize that head of yours.”

“No, you won’t!  You shall not have those peaches, anyhow,” replied the resolute little fellow, who was no match, physically, for Shuffles.

“If you open your mouth——­”

“Hallo!  Uncle Robert!  Help, help!  Thieves in the garden!” shouted Harry, who certainly had no defect of the lungs.

“Take that, you little monkey!” said Shuffles, angrily, as he struck the little fellow a heavy blow on the side of the head with his fist, which knocked him down.  “I’ll fix you the next, time I see you.”

Shuffles consulted his discretion rather than his valor, now that the alarm had been given, and retreated towards the place where he had entered garden.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” asked Mr. Lowington, as he rushed over the bridge, followed by the gardener and his assistants, just as Harry was picking himself up and rubbing his head.

“They were stealing your peaches, and I tried to stop them,” replied Harry.  “They have taken some of them now.”

Mr. Lowington glanced at the favorite tree, and his brow lowered with anger and vexation.  His paper before the “Pomological” could be illustrated by only nine peaches, instead of thirteen.