“Now,” said Tom, “we must block up the opening. It will not do to allow it to remain as it is.” Some lime was procured from a barrel in the negro quarters, slacked and quickly mixed with sand and water. “It’s not very good mortar,” remarked Tom, “but it will have to answer, as it’s the best we can do.” The stones that had been removed were replaced in the side of the well, and another was procured to replace the one that had fallen out; then all were cemented firmly in place, and all trace of the work destroyed. After they had finished, Tom breathed a sigh of relief. “Good,” said he. “It will take a sharp eye to discover that, I fancy. It is secure there until the times grow settled and father is released on parole or exchanged.” They had reached the side door, at the upper end of the house, carrying the chest between them, and were just about to go in, when Tom suddenly laid his hand warningly upon the big slave’s shoulder. “Don’t move,” whispered he. “Listen!” They stood as silent as graven images. The soft “pit-pat” of cautious footsteps was approaching, down a narrow path between two high screens of hedge. The shadows by the doorway lay deep and black, but the path leading to it was flooded by moonlight. A night bird flew by, overhead, crying harshly and sharply in the stillness. The footfalls had now ceased, but there immediately followed a rustling in the hedge. The next moment the stiff growth parted and a face was thrust through--a pale, sly looking face with narrow eyes and a crafty expression. It was that of Mark Harwood! The shadow was too deep about the doorway for the prowling Tory to see our friends, however; he remained glancing here and there for a moment, then his head was withdrawn and his soft footfalls once more fell upon the listener’s ears. For a moment Tom had been startled; he had thought that the Tory had been watching their labors, and that the whereabouts of the treasure was known. But a moment’s reflection convinced him that this could not be so. Mark had approached the house from an entirely different direction, and was apparently endeavoring to find out if any one was astir. Assured that the hiding-place of his father’s money was not known to Mark, Tom at once conceived the notion of playing the Tory a trick. “Cole,” he whispered, “did you hear any other footsteps than his?” Cole shook his head. “He must be alone,” said Tom. “Perhaps he has come out ahead of his father’s band of thieving loyalists to look the ground over. They always did envy my father his prosperity, Cole, and now they think they’ll have a chance to rob him, seeing that the British are near at hand.” While he spoke, Tom was thinking of another matter; suddenly he clapped the negro on the back and laughed low and gleefully. “I have a plan,” said he, eagerly. “We’ll fool them; we’ll let them think they have the matter in their own hands. Now, do just what I tell you, and don’t hesitate.”