They stayed all of that day at the farm, and at seven on New Year’s Eve the Sergeant went back to camp, leaving but six men. Presently, to Tom’s amazement, McLane came out of the barn with his Lieutenant, both dressed as British officers and the men as King’s soldiers. Then they mounted as before and rode slowly toward town. Tom, very curious, asked questions. McLane laughed: “Only a little fancy ball, Tom, and don’t talk. I want to think. Later I hope to send you a dispatch.” Tom was puzzled, but rode on in silence. About nine at night they were just outside of the English pickets, not far from the Schuylkill. Here they rode into a wood and dismounted. Then McLane on foot led the boys down the Lancaster Road. “Yonder,” he said, “is a guard. As it is very dark you may get by unseen. If not, you must say you are boys from town and have lost your way. Not a word of me. Be careful. At the middle ferry bridge you will find a chaise and your man-servant. Now be silent and careful and good-bye, Colonel Markham.” Full of the boy delight in an adventure so real, Tom went on in the darkness with the twins. He saw against the sky a guard on a little hillock above the road. A thicket of briers lined the wayside. Tom halted and whispered: “We have got to creep, Gemini, and play bears. No noise, and go slow.” With this the three went down on their hands and knees in the snow, and, Tom leading, crept by the sentry on the bank, who was stamping and beating his breast to keep warm. “Now,” said Tom, “for a run to get warmed up”; and, unseen, they ran through the darkness on the well-trodden snow of the mid-pike. They soon found the chaise and their servant. He had a pass so that they easily went by the guard and after a short drive were at home and in their mother’s arms. When the boys left him, McLane, a little anxious, looked after them for a time and returned to his men. They tied their horses in the wood and, leaving a man to care for them, one by one crawled through the thin line of pickets, who were much occupied in keeping themselves warm. It was very dark, and again the snow was falling and a fierce wind blowing. At last the men came together at a low whistle from McLane. They were now close to the house where, in the wood above the Schuylkill, Mr. Penn was pleased to entertain his friends. It was a quaint little house and still stands to-day in the Zoological Gardens. There is a small entrance hall, a winding stair, and on the left a descent to a long underground passage ending in two large, cool-storage rooms. One large chamber on the first floor looks eastward over the river. McLane knew it all well. It was now long after nine and very dark. The partisan officer was safe between the pickets he had passed and those along the west shore far below the house.