The Great Oakdale Mystery. Scott Morgan

was the regretful confession, “I didn’t notice it.”

      “I started to call to you, but I thought you knew your business and were ready to pepper away when the bird flushed.”

      Later, when they ran into a covey of woodcock, Fred was astonishingly slow about shooting, and Hooker brought down two birds to his one, which seemed rather remarkable, as Sage was much the better wing shot. It was Fred, too, who, seeming the first to tire of the sport, finally proposed that they should go home.

      “There’s time enough,” objected Roy. “Practice doesn’t begin until three o’clock, and it’s not yet noon.”

      “But I’ll need to rest up a bit after this tramp. I’ve got enough, anyhow.”

      On the way back to the village Sage suddenly asked Hooker once more to describe the stranger, and when Roy had complied he again asserted that he had not the least idea as to the man’s identity.

      It was nearly one o’clock when Sage reached his home, a comfortable, well-kept story-and-a-half house on the outskirts of the village, but he found that his mother had kept dinner waiting for him, for which he scolded her in a laughing fashion.

      “No need to put yourself to so much trouble, mother,” he said. “I could have done just as well with a cold lunch from the pantry.”

      “It was no trouble, my boy,” she replied, affection in her tone and in the glance she gave him. “We knew you would be home, for you said there was to be football practice this afternoon, and it was your father who suggested that we should wait for you.”

      She was not an old woman, but her hair was snowy white, and there was something in her face and the depths of her gentle eyes which indicated that her life had not been wholly free from care and sorrow.

      Fred’s father, who had been reading in the sitting-room, put aside his newspaper and came into the dining-room, rubbing his hands together as he peered at the boy over the gold-bowed spectacles that clung to his nose.

      “Well, what luck, young man?” he asked. “Did you find any shooting worth while?”

      “We got seven woodcock and three partridges,” answered Fred; “but Roy shot the most of them, though he insisted on dividing them. I made him take the odd partridge, though, keeping only one for mother, as she doesn’t care for woodcock.”

      “H’m!” nodded Andrew Sage slowly. “How did you happen to let him outshoot you, Fred? With that new gun of yours, I thought you’d make a record. Doesn’t it shoot as well as you expected?”

      “Oh, the gun is all right. I suppose I was a bit off form.”

      He was on the point of telling them of the unknown man who had questioned Hooker about the Sages living in Oakdale and then run away in such a perplexing manner on Fred’s approach, but something seemed to caution him to remain silent, and he did so.

      Like Roy Hooker, the people of Oakdale knew little about the Sages, save that they had lived in the place for three years having moved there from some distant state. Andrew Sage was a man nearly sixty years of age, with the speech and bearing of a person of education and refinement. He had purchased a tiny farm of some twenty acres, the buildings of which were promptly repaired, remodelled within and thoroughly painted. The grounds in the vicinity of the buildings were cleared and graded, with the exception of a picket-fenced front yard, where an old-fashioned flower garden had been choked out by weeds. Of course the fence was straightened up, repaired and given several coats of paint, and the flower garden was restored to its former state of blooming fragrance and beauty; but this work was done at the direction of Mrs. Sage, who seemed to find in that garden something to occupy her mind and give her many hours of pleasure. Her knowledge of flowers and their proper care was much superior to the knowledge displayed by her husband in the vegetable garden, which he planted and attended. The neighbors often remarked that it was plain enough that Andrew Sage had never turned his hand to such labor before coming to Oakdale.

      That the Sages possessed an income sufficient to support them modestly was likewise evident, for they lived comfortably and paid their bills promptly, although Mr. Sage worked upon his own property only, and, as conducted, that brought in practically no revenue whatever.

      The little household was held together by strong bands of understanding and affection which would have been apparent enough to anyone who could have watched them this day at their belated dinner. Into their pleasant conversation there entered no jarring note, and their thoughtfulness and consideration for one another was of the finest sort. The atmosphere of that home was truly such as it should be, comfortable, homelike, fraught with an indescribable something that always makes such a place the best-loved spot on earth.

      It was natural that Fred’s mother should speak of football and its dangers and express her regret that he should care to take part in such sport. And in supporting Fred’s arguments in favor of the game, it was diplomatic of his father to seem, in a way, to favor both sides of the question, while all the time he was cleverly reassuring the apprehensive woman. Andrew Sage’s skill in this form of controversy not only made it much easier for Fred, but checked, in a great measure, the worriment of the boy’s mother.

      When he reached the football field that afternoon Fred found Roy Hooker telling a group of boys about the encounter with the mysterious stranger. Of those boys Billy Piper, familiarly known as “Sleuth” on account of his yearning desire to emulate the feats of detective heroes of fiction, appeared to be the most deeply interested. The others showed a disposition to treat the affair as something of minor importance or no importance whatever.

      “Through what I can gather from your statements, Hooker,” said Sleuth, “I am led to infer that this unknown party may have been a red-handed criminal fleeing from justice. Or, perchance, to look at the matter in another light, he was a person deeply wronged, seeking to visit retribution on the head of one who had injured him. I say, Sage,” he called, catching sight of Fred, “have you any reason to suppose that you or any of your immediate relatives may have a bitter and remorseless enemy who seeks reprisal for some fancied injury in the dark and buried years of the past?”

      “As far as I know,” answered Fred, “we have not an enemy in the world.”

      “And you haven’t a notion as to the identity of the mysterious stranger who made inquiries about you and then ran away before you could get a look at him?”

      “Not the remotest idea.”

      “Hah!” breathed Piper in deep satisfaction. “The plot thickens. I scent a mystery of deep and terrible significance. The clues are faint indeed, but they shall not baffle me. If this unknown stranger lingers in the vicinity of Oakdale, I’ll yet lay bare his foul designs and foil him in his fell purpose.”

      “Oh, slush!” cried Phil Springer. “You’ve got another bad attack, Pipe. You bub-better forget it. Here comes Stoney. Let’s start practice, fellows.”

      The group dissolved, leaving Piper, his arms folded, his eyes fixed upon the ground, in profound meditation.

      CHAPTER IV.

      A MAN “WANTED.”

      Captain Stone, who seemed to be amazingly conversant with the new football rules, which of late he had studied faithfully during all his spare moments, tried hard to impart an understanding of them to the other boys, the most of whom were eager to learn, their willingness keeping them at practice until the gathering darkness finally forced them to stop.

      Upon the occasion of his son leaving Oakdale Academy for the purpose of taking a final college preparatory year in one of the leading prep schools of the country, Urian Eliot had contributed five hundred dollars for the purpose of carrying out a plan for certain improvements of the Oakdale gymnasium. These improvements had been made, and now in one end of the former bowling alley there were heated dressing rooms and a number of shower baths. This made it possible for the boys to take their showers after practice or games, and then rub down and dress in comfort.

      Hurrying to the gym, Fred Sage lost no time in stripping off his soiled and sweaty football clothes and making a dive for one of the