"Hi, there, Duncan Woodward!" I called out. "What are you doing in Widow Canby's orchard?" "None of your business, Roger Strong," replied the only son of the wealthiest merchant in Darbyville. "You are stealing her pears," I went on. "Your pockets are full of them." "See here, Roger Strong, just you mind your own business and leave me alone." "I am minding my business," I rejoined warmly. "Indeed!" And Duncan put as much of a sneer as was possible in the word. "Yes, indeed. Widow Canby pays me for taking care of her orchard, and that includes keeping an eye on these pear trees," and I approached the tree upon the lowest branch of which Duncan was standing.