To his inexpressible relief, the voice of Harvey came up to him; then the vague figure of Harvey, himself, ascending the stairway. He was limping, but taking two stairs at a jump.

Tom Edwards seized him by an arm as he arrived at the top.

"Good gracious, my boy, what happened?" he asked.

Harvey gasped.

"I'm more scared than hurt, I guess," he said, panting for breath.

"Cracky! How I did go. Dropped down one of the chutes that they feed the hay down into the stalls through. It was all over in a minute. I thought I was going clear to China, and then I struck and landed in a manger.

Scared? You bet! But the horse in that stall was scared worse than I was.

He gave a snort and jumped to his feet, broke his halter and cleared out of that stall quicker than scat. There he goes about the stable, making a racket to wake the whole farm. I've done it, I expect. Say, Tom, we've got to hide, and hide quick."

"Where'll we go-down the ladder and make a run for it?" asked Tom Edwards.

"I can't do it," answered Harvey. "I've got a bad ankle. I know what.

Where's that pitchfork?"

He groped his way cautiously to the side of the barn, and had the good fortune to put his hand on the handle of the fork.

"Lie down there again, Tom," he said. "I'll heap the hay over you. Here, take my coat, too. I'll cover you, and then I'll go up the rope. I can climb, if I can't run."

Tom Edwards, confused by the sudden turn of affairs, obeyed instructions.

Harvey hurriedly pitched a quant.i.ty of the loose hay over the form of his friend, pressed it down until Tom Edwards begged for mercy, vowing he should smother, then tossed the pitchfork aside. Grasping the rope, Harvey went rapidly up, hand-over-hand, until he could seize the beam. He drew himself up, caught one leg over the beam and swung himself astride of it. Then he stretched himself out at length upon the beam, holding to the block for safety. It was an easy accomplishment for him. He had done a similar feat in the gymnasium at home a hundred times; and the fear of discovery now lent him strength which made little account of the extra weight of clothing that enc.u.mbered him. It was dusty and uncomfortable on the great beam, but he could stick.

Sometime after midnight, Henry Burns and young Joe Warren, asleep in that corner room of the old Warren house that was nearest the big barn, awoke suddenly. Of one accord, the two sat bolt upright in bed and wondered if the house were tumbling down about their heads. Then they realized that the noise was outside the house-a most extraordinary racket, as of a stampede of cattle, or a horse galloping through a covered bridge at full speed. They sprang out of bed and ran to the window.

Henry Burns laughed.

"It's all right, Joey," he said. "It isn't an earthquake nor a cyclone. I thought we were all going in a heap for a moment, though. It's out in the barn-one of the horses got loose, I guess."

They heard sounds of stirring in the room opposite, and presently Edward Warren called out to them.

"Don't be scared, boys," he said. "It's old Billy, got loose, somehow.

Funny, too, I hitched him all right last night. What on earth is the matter with him? He's scared at something, sure. I reckon it isn't thieves, for they don't steal horses around here. I'll have a look pretty quick, though. There's something wrong."

"Come on, Joe," said Henry Burns. "Let's see what's the matter."

But Young Joe was not eager. He yawned and returned to bed. Henry Burns dressed and hurried out into the hall. A few moments later, Edward Warren, carrying a lantern, and George and Arthur Warren and Henry Burns made their way out of the back door and entered the barn at the door facing the house.

As they threw open the sliding door and entered, with the lighted lantern, the whinny of a horse greeted them. Then old Billy, recognizing his master's voice, came ambling up and thrust his nose into Edward Warren's hand.

Edward Warren gave an exclamation of surprise.

"That's queer," he said. "Look at that halter. If he hasn't broken it short off. I never knew him to do that before. What's the matter, Billy-had bad dreams?"

"You don't think anybody has broken into the barn?" suggested George Warren, peering into the dancing shadows cast by the lantern.

"Oh, no," replied Edward Warren. "I never knew that to happen here. This door was fastened, and so is the one at the farther end." He held the lantern aloft and threw the light across the barn. "That's fastened up tight," he said.

"Come on, Billy," continued Edward Warren, "I'll hitch you up again.

Confound you, old scamp, what do you mean by acting this way?"

The horse, led by his master, followed quietly; but at the entrance to the stall he stopped and danced about, trembling. It was with difficulty that he was dragged to the manger and hitched up.

"That's queer, sure enough," said Edward Warren. "There's something about that manger he acts afraid of. I'll just step up-stairs, pitch him down a feed of hay, and quiet him."

He took the lantern and ascended to the floor above, leaving the boys in darkness.

Jack Harvey, stretched at length on the beam, heard the footsteps, with alarm. Peering down, he caught the gleam of the lantern. He clung rigidly on his perch, till every bone and muscle in his body seemed to be aching.

He saw the man hunt for his pitchfork, heard him remark impatiently when he did not see it in its place against the wall; saw him pick it up from another part of the loft, on the floor. Then, to his dismay, he saw the man turn toward the pile of hay that he had thrown over Tom Edwards.

But the man stopped, gathered up a fork-full from the floor and thrust it down the chute.

"That will be enough to quiet the old boy," he muttered, and departed down the stairs. Harvey felt a shiver of relief run through him.

"Lucky I closed that door," he muttered. "If he'd gone to that and seen the ladder, we'd have been done for."

A few minutes later, the little party from the house had shut and locked the barn door again and returned to their beds. Harvey, stiff in every joint, managed to slide down the rope into the arms of Tom Edwards. A moment more, and they were both snug in the hay, exhausted but thankful.

Sleep soon overtook them, and they rested till the morning light came in through the window. Then they aroused and scurried down the ladder, setting off on as brisk a run as Harvey could manage with his lame ankle, across the fields to the woods, without stopping to remove the ladder.

"That was a close call, Tom," gasped Harvey, as they rested a half hour later. "Supposing they had caught us? We'd be in the town lock-up, like as not."

Later that morning, a group of boys stood with Edward Warren, gazing at the ladder raised to the upper barn door.

"And only to think there was somebody in there all the time," said Henry Burns. "Too bad you didn't catch them, Mr. Warren. What do you suppose they wanted?"

"Tramps," replied Edward Warren, "and old Billy didn't like 'em."

Christmas day came in warm and genial. It was a wonderful day for winter, even in Maryland. The party went into the woods and fields in the morning, and returned with game for Mammy Stevens to roast. The Christmas dinner followed. Young Joe dragged himself from the dinner table, fairly groaning with his cargo of good things. The others were hardly better off. They stood together on the Warren verandah.

"Well, what shall it be?" inquired Edward Warren. "Anything you chaps say, you know. Got enough gunning?"

They demurred.

"Couldn't walk half a mile after that dinner," said George Warren.

Even Henry Burns declared himself unequal to so much activity, though he was ever the last to tire or balk at exertion, being slight and wiry and surprisingly strong.

"How about a sail?" ventured Edward Warren.

To his surprise, a shout of approval answered him.

"Oh, I forgot you chaps were sailors," he said. "I didn't think you'd venture it on a winter day. You sail up in your bay, summers, don't you?"

"I should say we did," answered George Warren. "Jack Harvey and Henry here own a fine yacht together. Jack Harvey's gone to Europe this winter.

And we fellows have a craft of our own, too. We keep them going lively in summer. We'd just like to try that canoe of yours, Ed. Do you mean it?"