"What do you want, this time of night?" she asked.

"Madam, we want a night's lodging," replied Tom Edwards, removing his tarpaulin, and making as polite an appearance as his fisherman's oil-skins would permit.

"Hey?"

"A night's lodging, madam. We have left the vessel, and we haven't any place to stop."

"Oh, you be sailor men, eh-but you talk like a man as tried to sell me a sewing machine once-sort of smooth like. Well, I'm a lone woman, and I haven't any lodgings for anyone. You'll have to go along."

"We can pay," ventured Harvey.

The woman shook her head.

"I've heard they do beat 'em dreadful on the dredgers, oftentimes," she said, "and I don't know as I blame you for running off, if that's what you've been doing. But you'll have to try somewhere's else. I guess you couldn't pay much, by the looks of you."

Harvey and Tom Edwards looked at each other. Tom Edwards shook his head.

"It's no use, Jack," he said. "She won't let us in." Then he turned to the window once more and made a sweeping bow, with his greasy tarpaulin in hand.

"Allow us to wish you a Merry Christmas, madam," he said.

"Hey?"

"A Merry Christmas, I say."

The old woman suddenly withdrew her head from the window, and they started to go away; but she reappeared and called to them.

"Here," she said, "catch this." And she tossed something out of the window.

A coin fell at Harvey's feet, and he stooped and picked it up. It was a quarter of a dollar.

"If that will do you any good, you are welcome," she said. "It's all the Christmas I can afford to give you."

Then she shut the window.

Harvey and Tom Edwards, amused and disappointed, pa.s.sed out of the gateway and went on.

"Well, we're a quarter better off," laughed Harvey, untying his oil-skins and stowing the coin away in a trousers' pocket.

"Oh, hang the quarter!" exclaimed Tom Edwards, sleepily. "I'd give ten dollars for a good night's lodging, a bath and a shave-that is, if I had the ten," he added. "What shall we do, Jack?"

"I know," replied Harvey, promptly. "I've seen a big old farmhouse, with a lot of barns and hen-houses and cattle sheds and things, when we've been lying off sh.o.r.e, and it looked mighty comfortable and home-like.

It's down the sh.o.r.e a piece. Let's go there. We won't ask for lodgings, though. We'll get into one of the barns, and make ourselves comfortable.

They can't find us until morning, anyway."

"Go ahead. I'm with you," said Tom Edwards.

Harvey led the way, across the open country, through a series of little hills and hollows, to the eastward of where they had landed. Tom Edwards, wearied and burdened with the weight of the c.u.mbersome oil-skins, followed doggedly, nearly falling asleep as he walked.

They came presently to the outskirts of a farm of some considerable size, fenced in, and skirted with small trees and bushes. From the shelter of these, they could look across some ploughed land, with the old stubble of corn-stalks showing, to the farmhouse and out-buildings. There were, as Harvey had noted, several of these.

"I wonder if there are any dogs," muttered Harvey, as he surveyed the prospect. "If there are, we're done for-unless we have better luck than we did before."

He gave a low whistle, not to be audible far, but which might carry in the still night air to the buildings. Then they waited anxiously. There was no answering bark. They stole quickly across the open fields and came within the shadow of one of the barns. There they paused again, listening intently for any sound that might come from the house. The place was silent, save for the stirring of some cattle within the barn.

This barn was one of the larger ones, evidently built for storing hay, with a part of it used for cattle. It was nearest the farmhouse-only a few rods distant. They made the round of three sides of it, keeping close within the shadow of its walls, looking for a possible means of entrance.

To their disappointment, there were no windows large enough to admit of the pa.s.sage of even a boy-only some small ones, high up, that admitted light and air for the cattle.

At the farther end, however, they discovered two doors; the larger one on the ground floor, used for teams and farm wagons, and, high above that, a smaller door that opened on to the second floor, used for hoisting in hay. The smaller door they perceived to be slightly ajar-evidently through the oversight of some farm hand.

Tom Edwards pointed to the door, half-heartedly.

"Isn't that tantalizing?" he said. "Of course, it's the door that's out of reach that's open."

"We'll make it," replied Harvey. "Whoever heard of a farm without a ladder of some sort?"

They found one, after a cautious hunt, lying alongside another shed. In a twinkling, they had raised it to the upper window, ascended, and were inside.

There was absolutely no way of telling where they were, save that they were in some sort of a hay-loft, with a window at the farther end, through which the stars gave scarcely any light at all. They ventured to strike one match, but it gave them only a transient, shadowy view of their surroundings; and they dared not repeat the experiment amid the dry hay.

There were cattle and perhaps other stock on the floor below, judging by the sounds. There was hay scattered all about them, and a huge mow of it on one side. There was a bucket filled with sand that Harvey discovered by b.u.mping his shins against it. A rope went up from this to the beam above. Harvey knew the contrivance, for he had seen the like in barns at home. The rope ran through a big block fastened to a beam overhead, and pa.s.sed down again from that pulley through a hole in the floor, to the room below. There it connected, he knew, with a barred door, like a large gate, that was used in summer nights, instead of the regular sliding doors, to admit of a free supply of air into the barn. The rope connected with it like a window cord, and the bucket of sand answered for the weight. This much of their surroundings was apparent. All the rest was hidden in darkness.

Tom Edwards unb.u.t.toned his oil-skin coat, removed it, and dropped upon a little pile of hay, using the coat to cover him.

"It's gorgeous! Jack, my boy," he exclaimed. "It beats any bed in the Parker House in Boston. Turn in. There's room for two, and not a cent to pay. My, but I'm tired!"

"I'm with you," answered Harvey, "but I'll just close that door a bit more. We haven't got much bed-clothing."

He stepped to the door and shut it almost tight. Then he started back, for where Tom Edwards lay. It was dark, and he could not see his way. He took a few steps, when something impelled him to stop abruptly. The next moment he discovered he was at the top of a pair of stairs leading down to the lower floor.

"Jimminy! Tom," he cried softly, "I came near taking a flying trip that time. Here's a pair of stairs."

He retraced his steps a little, and stumbled against a pitchfork, that was leaning against the side of the barn.

"Tom," he laughed, "where are you, anyway? This is the easiest place to get lost in I ever saw."

Before Tom Edwards had opportunity to reply, Harvey had taken a few more steps in the darkness. Then Tom Edwards heard him utter a startled, frightened, half-smothered cry. There was a queer, sc.r.a.ping sound, and a heavy thud somewhere on the floor below.

Tom Edwards sprang to his feet, in alarm.

"Jack," he cried, "what's the matter? What's happened?"

There was no answer. He groped his way across the floor.

"Jack," he called again, anxiously, "where are you? What's happened? Are you hurt?"

He peered into the darkness, and listened. Then he heard the frightened whinny of a horse, followed by a clatter of hoofs on the barn floor. Tom Edwards made his way in the darkness to the top of the stairs.

"Jack, Jack," he called.