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.

"Who stole them, Harry?" demanded the disappointed fruit-grower.

The nephew hesitated a moment, and the question was repeated with more
sternness.

"Robert Shuffles; Isaac Monroe was with him, but he didn't take any of
the peaches."

"What is the matter with your head, Harry?" asked his uncle, when he
observed him rubbing the place where the blow had fallen.

"Shuffles struck me and knocked me down, when I called out for you."

"Did he? Where is he now?"