Mr. Phillips, seating himself in his chair, doubled up with laughter.

"Excuse you, why, of course," he roared. "Bless me, if that wasn't the most effective temperance lesson I ever saw in my life. Young fellow, if you can convert 'em as quick as that, you ought to go into the business."

"I was only in fun," said Harvey, apologetically. "I thought it would surprise Tom, to give it to him, just as he said."

"Surprise!" roared Mr. Phillips, "I never saw such a surprised man in all my life." And the lawyer leaned back in his chair and roared again.

"Well," he said, finally. "I'll try you on the food question. You're both hungry enough, I dare say. Just make yourself comfortable and I'll have my man start breakfast."

Harvey and Tom Edwards settled back in their chairs, warm and grateful.

It seemed too good to be true, to be comfortably housed and with the prospect of a good breakfast, after the hardships they had gone through.

And when they sat down to the table some time later, with coffee and eggs and bacon and hot rolls and crisp fried potatoes arrayed appetizingly before them, they could hardly believe they were not dreaming. Hope and courage grew anew within them, and already their troubles seemed at an end.

They were glad enough, when they had finished, to accept the proffered hospitality of a bed; and they went off to sleep, wearied and worn but vastly content in the consciousness that they were safe, and might rest unmolested. They slept the most of that day, and roused up at evening only, to partake of a bit of supper and then turn in again, for a long night of sleep and rest.

The next day, the easterly storm blew up that had made life miserable aboard the dredger, Brandt, away across the bay on the eastern sh.o.r.e. How far from their minds was the thought that, while they sat, comfortably sheltered against the snow and sleet, the youth, Artie Jenkins, who had brought all their troubles upon them, was, himself, toiling miserably and wretched, at the winch aboard the Brandt. By no stretch of the imagination could Harvey have pictured his friend, Henry Burns, under bondage to Haley, as he himself had been.

Harvey and Tom Edwards, urged to remain until they were fully refreshed, and until the weather softened to admit of their travelling without danger or great hardship, gladly accepted. They remained that day and the next under the roof of their good host. He, on his part, was glad of their company, and would have had them remain even longer.

On the fourth day, however, the weather moderating and not enough snow having fallen to make the road impa.s.sable, Harvey and his companion determined to set out. They were in high spirits, for their generous host had lent them money for their pa.s.sage to Baltimore and to purchase what they might need on the way. Moreover, he had given them the name of a man at a small settlement called Trap, a mile or two up the road, who owned a horse, and who, he thought, would drive them northward. In the forenoon, then, they started, with a cordial farewell and wishes for good luck.

Lawyer Phillips had been a generous and thoughtful friend. The shabby, sea-worn clothing that the two had worn on their arrival at his home had been replaced by garments from his own wardrobe-second-hand, to be sure, but far better and warmer than what they had. Over his shoulder Harvey carried a small sack which contained half a boiled ham, two loaves of bread, some corn biscuit and a big bottle of coffee. They were rested and had been well fed; and they went along the icy road in high spirits.

In a little more than an hour they had reached the settlement to which they had been directed, consisting of some three or four houses. They went in to the door of one of these, and knocked. A man opened the door.

"We are looking for Mr. Stanton," said Tom Edwards.

"That's my name," responded the man; "what's wanted?"

They told him Mr. Phillips had sent them, and informed him of their errand. The man shook his head.

"I'd do anything for Mr. Phillips," he said, "but my horse can't travel clear to Millstone and back over this road, this time of year. But I tell you what I will do; I'll take you by water. My canoe is down at the creek yonder. We can run up in four hours, I guess; and I'll put you up with friends of mine when we get there, and you can stay till the boat comes.

How will that suit you?"

"Suit us!" exclaimed Tom Edwards, "nothing ever suited us half so well in this world. When can you start?"

"Right away, as soon as I throw a few things into a bag."

Five minutes later, the three were going along a road that led off from the highway to the right, diagonally toward the sh.o.r.e. Their guide and new acquaintance, a small, undersized man, led the way at a brisk pace.

The entrance to the creek, a quite extensive sheet of water, bordered by salt marshes, was about two miles distant. When they had come to within a quarter of a mile of this, a small cabin could be seen, squatted down among the reeds by the sh.o.r.e.

Suddenly their guide stopped short, gazed off to the side of the road, and uttered an exclamation of surprise. Then he pointed to an object a short distance away, and ran toward it. Harvey and Tom Edwards followed.

What they saw was the figure of a man, or youth, lying on a little patch of underbrush, where he had evidently fallen.

The heavy breathing of the person told the three, as they bent over him, that he still lived; but he seemed to be in a sort of stupor. Mr. Stanton turned him over and looked at his face.

"I knew it," he said. "He's a stranger; some poor chap from a dredger, sure as you live. He's not the first one that's been put ash.o.r.e down here. We've got to get him into the cabin and give him something hot pretty quick, or we won't save him."

"Lift him up on my shoulders, and I'll carry him," said Harvey. "It isn't far, and he doesn't weigh much."

They lifted the youth up and Harvey started toward the cabin, carrying him over his shoulder, while the others steadied the swaying figure. He was, as Harvey had said, not heavy-a youth of about twenty, perhaps, slender and sickly looking. His face seemed swollen, as though from blows or from being frost-bitten. As Harvey, strong and athletic, carried him over the uneven ground, he groaned and muttered something unintelligible.

The jolting had roused him partly from his stupor.

The cabin proved to be a rough affair of boards-with wooden bunks on either side, and a sheet-iron stove in one corner-used merely as an occasional shelter by tong-men. Harvey laid his burden down and made haste to start a fire. Tom Edwards produced the coffee from the bag, and poured some into a tin can that he found in one corner of the cabin, in order to heat it on the stove. The man, Stanton, began untying the shoes and loosening the clothing of the unknown youth, who now stirred slightly and half opened his eyes. There were two tattered blankets by the doorway, and Mr. Stanton spread these by the stove, where Harvey soon had a fire roaring, and they laid the youth down on them.

"It's just as I thought," exclaimed Stanton, indignantly, turning down the youth's coat and shirt, so that a part of his bare shoulder was exposed; "he's been beaten with a rope's end. It's a disgrace, the way they treat men."

Harvey's face flushed, as he looked.

"We know how to sympathize with the poor fellow," he said. "We know what dredging is like, eh, Tom?"

"Well, I rather think we do," responded Tom Edwards. "We've got some scores of our own to settle with a few men, when we get back to Baltimore."

Tom Edwards advanced now with the coffee.

"Hold him up, Jack," he said. "This will warm him."

Harvey put his hand under the youth's head, raised him to a sitting position, and Tom Edwards held the tin to his lips. The youth opened his eyes and looked them in the face. As he did so, Harvey fairly gasped and nearly let him fall back.

"Tom," he exclaimed, "look! See who it is!"

Tom Edwards set the tin down on the floor.

"Why, I've seen him before," he cried. "He's the chap I met in Baltimore, or his twin brother. How can that be, though? Jack, what do you say? Who is he?"

"Artie Jenkins!" exclaimed Harvey. "I'd know him, no matter where he was.

He's the chap that trapped me-and of all places to find him! Say, you're Artie Jenkins, aren't you?"

He looked the youth in the eyes and shook him. The youth nodded, feebly.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Well," said Tom Edwards, lifting the tin again, "you get the coffee, just the same-but hang me if I ever thought I'd do that much for you.

Hold him up, Jack. Here, drink this."

Artie Jenkins, choking and breathing hard between his efforts, drank the tin-full of hot coffee, and they laid him down again. They rubbed his legs and arms till they were warmed with renewed vitality. Then they rolled him in the blankets and let him lie by the fire.

"He's all right, I guess," said Stanton, "but he had a close call.

Another hour out there in the cold and he never would have waked up. It's funny, though, that you know him; how did it happen?"

"Yes, he's an old friend of ours," said Tom Edwards, smiling; "we're sort of old Johns Hopkins chums, he and Harvey and I. We went to school with him-on the Baltimore water front." And he narrated the story of their acquaintance with Artie Jenkins. "Jack and I had a score to settle with him," he said in conclusion; "but it looks to me as though someone had settled it for us. Judging by the looks of our friend, I guess he's had enough, eh, Jack?"

Harvey nodded.

"I guess we'll call it even," he replied. "But what puzzles me is, what are we going to do with him?" Harvey looked at Mr. Stanton, inquiringly.

The latter did not answer, but started suddenly toward the door.

"There's a sloop coming to anchor just outside," he said. "Perhaps they know something about him. Just keep close, now. There's a skiff coming in, with two in it. I'm a justice of the peace. I reckon this revolver will be a good argument for them to stop. I'll hold them until that chap, Jenkins, is able to sit up again. If he identifies them as the ones that brought him in here, I'll put them under arrest. Have you got a weapon?"