Up the perpendicular ladder they clambered, each foot barely missing little fingers trying from below to clutch the ladder's rungs. Mollie had one child on her back now and was hoisting chubby Leon upward and onward by boosting him with her head. It was hard work, especially for the younger children and for Johnnie with his crutch, yet three and four times every day the feat was accomplished. No one who had visited the farm in all those five years had ever seen a child, other than Ambrose, on the premises. Reaching the loft the children rushed, with one accord, to drag into position the great, wooden shutter that closed the window space. Not until then did Mollie discover that Stephen was missing. Alarmed, she ran to the opening in the floor and peered down into the stable below. Perhaps he had stopped there with old Nell. The stable was dark. Mollie, herself, had closed the barn door behind them. But there was light enough from the chinks and cracks for her to see that Stephen was not there. The girl's heart seemed to leap into her throat. She turned to the children. "Splutters hain't hyar!" she exclaimed, excitedly. "Whar is he? Did he fall? Hain't none o' yo' seed him?" The children shook their heads. "He war with us back a piece," said one. They ran to where the wooden shutter obscured them from the view of any person who might have entered the gate, and peered from every knot hole and crack for a glimpse of Stevie. He was not in sight. The reason he was not in sight became apparent a few seconds later. For the moment, he was directly under the window with his back against the barn and facing Ambrose. He was warding off the latter's blows, trying to dodge the fat, over-grown lummox, now twice as large as himself, although much younger, and escape to some shelter before the evil eyes of Peter should discern him, or he be forced by Ambrose into view of the stranger. The latter was plainly a native of that section and evidently a farmer. Seated in a rickety light-wagon he drove in at the open gate, which Peter promptly closed and locked behind him. The horse attached to the wagon had an aged, dejected appearance, somewhat in harmony with that of his master. The latter brought his equipage to a halt close by the hog-pen and descended to inspect its occupants. Never having visited the farm before, he was evidently unaware how closely the swamps hedged it about, for the rear wheels of his wagon came perilously near the edge of the horrible pit over which Grimes had held Stephen more than five years before. Lying on their sides, across the end of the wagon-box, were a couple of barrels. The farmer, having selected a shoat, paid for it, then let down the tail-board of the wagon, preparatory to loading the animal into the vehicle. As he stepped back to the pen to secure his purchase one of the barrels, jarred by the dropping of the tail-board, rolled unnoticed out of the wagon and bounced in the mire.