Citrons and Watermelons. 
"8ay, boys, do you want some water¬ 
melons?” asked Frank, suddenly, one after¬ 
noon as we w r ere standing behind the barn 
debating what to do next. 
“Of course we do,” was the unanimous 
response of Charley, Bob and myself. 
“Why, have you got any?” asked Bob. 
“No,” replied Frank, laughing, “but I 
know who has. ” 
“Who is it ?” I asked, 
“Old Brown, over on the other road,” 
was the reply. 
“Pooh ! he wouldn’t give you a melon,” 
objected Charley. 
“Of course he wouldn’t; that wouldn’t 
prevent our getting them, though.” 
“Would you steal them?” said Bob, in 
tone of disapproval. 
“Certainly not. It isn’t stealing to take 
a few watermelons. Old Brown always lets 
more’n half of his rot on the vines; it isn’t 
as if he needed them. We can take three 
or four, and he will never know the differ 
once,” argued Frank. 
“Then why not ask for them?” suggested I. 
“It would be a long time before you got 
any,” said Bob, laughing. 
“What difference does it make, anyhow?” 
surged Frank. “He has plenty of them, 
snore than he will use, and we can go over 
there to-night and get one apiece, and he 
will never know they are gone. If a man 
don’t miss a thing, I’m sure it can’t do him 
any harm to take it.” 
“How can you see to get them in the 
night?” I asked. 
“Leave me alone for that.” answered 
Frank, confidently. “I know his water¬ 
melon patch well, and can put my hand on 
the ripe melons with my eyes shut. You 
see, he’s, been smart and planted his melons 
in a square piece in the middle of his corn¬ 
field. I never would have found it except 
by accident,” 
“Has he many melons?” asked Bob. 
“About a quarter of an acre of melons and 
citrons together. The citrons are on one 
end and the melons on the other. O, I can 
go to them in the dark!” answered Frank, 
“Well, boys, what do you say?” asked 
Bob, looking around at Charlie and me, 
“I’m for the melons!” I answered reck¬ 
lessly. 
“So am I,” said Charlie slowly. 
“Well, then, I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” 
said Frank. “We’ll get up about 10 o’clock 
to-night, and meet here; then we’ll walk 
over to the cornfield and get the melons, 
and come back here and hide ’em till to¬ 
morrow. We won’t want but one to-night, 
for they are big fellows—those striped 
Mountain Sweets.” 
After a little more talk, it was decided to 
follow Frank’s plan, and we parted to meet 
later in the evening. 
We were spending the summer down on 
the east end of Long Island. Bob and 
Charlie were boarding with their parents, 
at a farmhouse, while Frank and I were 
stopping at our grandfather’s, not far from 
them. 
Ten o’clock came, and Frank awoke me. 
With our shoes and stockings in our hands, 
we dropped out of the window and softly 
crept away from the house, We might 
just as well have gone out of the door, for 
grandfather and grandmother slept in the 
house, and they never would have heard us, 
but there was an air of romance about the 
exit by the window which the door lacked. 
After waiting behind the barn for a short 
time, we were joined by Bob and Charlie, 
and we made onr way to the melon patch. 
Arrived there, Frank motioned for us to 
remain in the edge of the corn while he 
secured the melons. 
“Be careful not to get oitrons,” whis¬ 
pered Charlie. 
Frank made an impatient gesture, and 
stepped along cautiously, snapping the 
melons as he went. Soon he came back 
with one, then with another, until each one 
carried in his arms an immense melon. 
Then we beat a hasty retreat to the barn, 
where we concealed three of the melons 
under a haystack. Frank took out his knife 
and cut the fourth by the light of the 
moon, which was just rising; we could see 
that the core was white. 
“It’s green.” said Charlie, in a disappoint¬ 
ed tone. 
‘Paugh!” exclaimed Bob, who had bitten 
into his slice. “It’s a citron.” 
“So it is,” said Frank. “I must have 
made a mistake.” 
