“Let the old fool go in the rain,” declared the ’squire. “He ain’t heard the last of this, not by a long shot. I’ll set Stanyan after ’em, and if he can’t cook their goose I will, if it costs me all I’m worth. Deacon Cornhill needn’t think he is going to jeopardize the safety of the whole town by any such tomfoolery. I’ll give you a dollar, Joe Dollard, if you’ll foller ’em so as to tell where they go. If the deacon takes ’em home you will see lively times before morning.” But Deacon Cornhill had no intention of taking his party home. He feared too much the sharp tongue of Mrs. Cornhill, whom he had already found was opposed to his scheme, to hazard such a venture. So he followed a road which led out of the village on the east, and drove ahead at a smart gallop through the rain, which was soon falling in a torrent. As there was no covering to the wagon, the entire party was exposed to the downpouring elements, though the two invalids had been so covered with a large rubber blanket in the wagon that they were partially sheltered from the rain. The only ones who really enjoyed the ride were the three boys--Chick, Ruddy and Tony--though two others, known as Tom and Jerry, joined with them in the outbursts of merriment. Rob, their leader, realized that the halo had fled from the picture, and that only the dark background was now revealed. He saw a bitter struggle ahead in order to meet the dangers likely to surround them in this new life. In this unexpected crisis his companions were not likely to prove of help, but he was the last boy to despair. His whole life had been a battle against adverse circumstances, and he was not going to falter now. Thus he spoke encouragingly to his low-spirited companions, and looked hopefully forward to their destination, trying to form an idea of the looks of the place, little dreaming in his youthful enthusiasm of its actual desolation. The road to Break o’ Day, as the place to which they were going was known, wound up through a deep wood for over four miles, and not a dwelling was to be seen on the entire route. Though they were somewhat protected from the rain under the overhanging forest, it was a dismal ride, and every one hailed with joy the opening at the summit of the hill or mountain. The deacon spoke encouragingly to the weary horses, which started into a smart trot now that the way was comparatively level. The Break o’ Day tract of country really consisted of a thousand acres of wild land, for the most, which had been largely cleared of its first growth by charcoal burners a few years before, and had been allowed to send up a second growth of saplings now in that age termed “sprouts.”