"They wouldn't do such a thing as that," said Ford, not quite
comprehending the situation.

"That's it," said Dab: "let 'em empty their pockets"--

Joe was indignantly turning inside out the side pockets of his neat
"cut-away," and a small, brown-paper-covered parcel dropped upon the
ground.

"Dem's de cloves," shouted Dick, as he darted forward, and picked it up.

The fingers of Fuz almost unconsciously imitated those of his elder
brother, and with a like result.

"Dat's de cinnamon. If de oder feller didn't git de tea an' de
sal'ratus! Whar's de nutmegs?"

These, too, were forthcoming, as well as a paper of "indigo blue" for
the next Monday's washing, and other items which testified strongly as
to "how much at a time" Mrs. Myers was in the habit of buying.

It was all over in less than half a minute, but Dick's assailants looked
very much as if they wanted to sink right down through the grass.

"Go home, Joseph," said Ford; "go home, Foster. I'll write to your
father that you're out of these things at your boarding-house. We _buy_
all our groceries, where we live."

"I never touched a thing," roared Joe. "Somebody put 'em in my pockets."