Bob the Castaway | Page 2

circus, only he has white stuff all over his face."
"Well, I must say, Bob Henderson, you're not very complimentary to
your mother, telling her she looks like a circus clown."
"I didn't say you did, mom. You only look like half a clown."
"That's just as bad."
Bob took advantage of this little diversion to hide the paper snappers
behind the tree while his mother was wiping the flour off her face. The
snappers were oblong pieces of stout wrapping paper, folded in such a
way that when swung through the air they went off like a bag blown up
and crushed between the hands. Bob was an expert in their
manufacture.
"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.
So Bob trudged along, whistling a merry tune and jingling in his pocket
the money his mother had given him.
"He'll be as mad as hops," he murmured, "but it can't do much harm.
He'll turn it off before much runs out."
This may seem rather a puzzle to my young readers, but if you have
patience you will soon understand what Bob meant, though I hope none
of you will follow his example.
As Bob walked along he met another lad about his own age.
"Hello, Bob," greeted Ted Neefus. "Where you goin'?"
"Store."
"What store?"