“A fine clearing, indeed,” said Mr. Felton when he came to the fence. “I wonder what Yankee scoundrel has dared to so seize, hold and occupy the lands of the Royal Colony of New York.” “Mayhap this younker can tell you, sir,” said the man guarding the boy, and lowering his gun as he spoke. “Boy, what scoundrel has dared to steal this land and establish himself upon it without leave or license of His Excellency, the Governor of New York? Yes, and cut down the pine trees, especially reserved for the masting of His Majesty’s navy,” and he tapped the top log impressively. “It’s holler, Mr. Felton,” Jenkins suggested, satisfying himself of the fact by a resonant thump of his axe. “Who stole this land? Where’s your tongue, boy?” Mr. Felton demanded sharply. But the boy, out of mind an instant, in that instant was out of sight. Many a time he had heard Job recount the manner of retreat practised by the Rangers, and now the knowledge served him well. While the surveryor’s party was engaged with the pine, he slipped down on the same side of the fence, gained the veiling of a low bush, wormed his way a few feet along the ground, reached the protection of a large tree trunk, when he leaped to his feet, and, fleet and noiseless as a Ranger himself, fled from tree to tree in a circuitous route to his father. Seth Beeman was hard at work on an extension of his clearing to the westward when Nathan came up, panting and breathless. “Oh, father, there’s a whole lot of Yorkers come and they’re runnin’ a line right through our clearin’.” Seth listened attentively until the men and their work had been described minutely, and then, without a word, resumed the trimming of the great hemlock he had just felled. As Nathan waited for some response, he knew by his father’s knitted brow that his thoughts were busy. At length, breaking off a twig of hemlock, he came to his son and said, handing the evergreen to him: “Take this to Newton’s and show it to the men folks, and say ‘There’s trouble to Beeman’s,’ and then go on and do the same at every house, ’round to Job’s, and show it to him and tell him the‘ same, and do whatever he tells you. Be spry, my boy; I must stay here and ta’ care of mother and Sis. Keep in the woods till you get clear of the Yorkers, then take the road and clipper.” CHAPTER V—THE EVERGREEN SPRIG Understanding the importance of his errand and guessing its purpose, Nathan skulked stealthily along the heavily-wooded border of the highway till past all chance of discovery, when he took the easier course of the road. The ecstatic melody of the thrushes’ song and the pensive strain of the pewee had not changed, yet now they were instinct with cheer and acceleration, as was the merry drumbeat of the flicker on a dry branch overhead.