“You just tell me what you mean, Eben Bond!” said John Fox, provoked. “I mean that I saw that boy of yours go by the tavern only two minutes since.” “Where did he go? In what direction?” demanded Fox, eagerly. “Down toward the river.” “He’s running away,” Fox said to himself, in dismay. “How in the the world did he get out?” He ran up the road, gazing anxiously on this side and on that, hoping to come upon the runaway. One thing was favorable; it was a straight road, with no roads opening out of it at least a mile beyond the tavern. It led by the river at a point half a mile on. “I’ll catch him yet. He can’t escape me!” Fox reflected. John Fox pushed on breathless, and a minute later came in sight of the fugitive. Harry had sobered down to a walk, thinking himself no longer in danger. If Mr. Fox had been wise enough to keep silent till he had come within a few rods he might have caught him easily, but excitement and anger were too much for prudence, and he called out, angrily: “Just wait till I get hold of you, you young villain! I’ll give you a lesson.” Harry turned quickly and saw his enemy close upon him. That was enough. He set out on what the boys call a dead run, though he hardly knew in what direction to look for refuge. But through the trees at the west side of the road he caught sight of something that put new hope into his heart. It was a boat, floating within three feet of shore. In it sat a boy of about Harry’s own age. It was Willie Foster. There was no time for ceremony, Harry sprang into the boat, and, seizing an idle oar, pushed out into the river. The owner of the boat, who had been thoughtfully gazing into the water, looked up in surprise. “Well, that’s cool!” he ejaculated. “I beg your pardon,” said Harry, still plying the oar; “I couldn’t help it; Mr. Fox is after me.” John Fox, by this time, stood on the river bank shaking his fist, with a discomfited expression, at his intended victim. “Come back here!” he shouted. “Thank you, I would rather not,” answered Harry, still increasing the distance between himself and his guardian. “You Willie Foster, row the boat back!” bawled John Fox, “Is your name Willie Foster?” asked Harry, turning to his companion, who was looking, with a puzzled expression, from one to the other. “Yes.” “Then, Willie, if you will help me row over to the other side of the river and set me off there, I’ll give you a dollar.” “I’ll do it,” said Willie, seizing the other oar, “but you needn’t give me any money.” To his intense disgust, Fox saw the boat, propelled by the two boys, leaping forward energetically, while he stood helplessly on the bank. The other bank was half a mile away, and could not be reached except by a bridge a considerable distance away. The two boys said little until the trip was accomplished. “I hope you won’t get into any serious trouble with Mr. Fox,” said Harry, as they drew near the bank. “I don’t care for old Fox, and father doesn’t like him, either.”