“If my peculiar looking friend wants me he had better hurry,” muttered Tom. “It’s almost time for us to take the road once more.” He had barely ceased speaking when he noticed, far down the road, where all had been deserted a few moments before, the figure of a man slowly approaching. “Can this be he?” Tom pushed the frolicking puppy from him, and looked long and earnestly toward the figure. The man came nearer and nearer; his pace was very slow and he walked with the assistance of a cane. “Yes!” suddenly, “it is he. There is his wooden leg--and his hair is gray--and he has but one eye!” The man continued to slowly advance; when he reached a point in the road directly in front of the inn, he paused. His remaining eye seemed very dim of sight, for at first he did not seem to see Tom. But when, at last, he did make him out, he came nearer and peered at him with great anxiety. He was a stout man with a fat, flabby, white face; his single eye squinted through a steel-rimmed glass; his breath was being drawn fast and with some difficulty, for his walk seemed to have exhausted him. He was forced, in order to see Tom plainly, to come very close; he said nothing, but only looked. Tom sat, silently awaiting the outcome of the inspection. At length a look of satisfaction spread over the man’s face; he grinned with delight, and a chuckling seemed to shake him all over. He put his hand into his breast pocket and took out a folded paper; unfolding it with great care, he adjusted his glass and proceeded to read: “Young man--tall--brown hair--gray eyes--not very well dressed,” he lowered the paper and fastened the youth on the bench with his single eye. “That’s you, is it not?” “It describes me pretty well,” said Tom. “It describes you exactly,” said the one-eyed man with the wooden leg. Then he turned his attention to the paper once more. “Will be at the Indian’s Head just outside the city, on the evening of December 23d.” He looked up at Tom, once more. “This is the Indian’s Head, is it not?” “It is.” “And this is the evening of December 23d?” “It is.” “And you are here?” Tom laughed; and the one-eyed man looked hurriedly at the paper. “It does not say anything about your laughing,” he informed Tom, at last, “but I suppose it’s all right. But, let us get down to business. Here are,” and he drew out a bulky packet, “your instructions.” He handed the packet to Tom without more ado, and drew out another paper; this one had an official look and bore a large seal. “And here,” went on the man, “is your permit to enter the city and leave it as you will, without fear and without question, and to have what helpers you require bear you company.”