“Say, folks,” he began, “you better clear out of here. The boss up there is hitchin’ up a team to go to Morris after the constable. I hearn him vow to have you run in for trespassin’ on his land.” We looked at one another in alarm. Hastily swallowing the last crumbs of bread, we rolled up our wet blankets and made ready for the road, the stranger doing all he could to help. Once on the highway we found riding out of the question because of the mud, and what to do we didn’t know, especially as our friend said that the constable would be glad enough to arrest us for the fee. “But if your wife don’t mind,” he concluded, “you might come down to the river with me. We’re choppin’ wood down there and the bunch’ll hide you till the constable gets tired nosin’ around and goes back to town.” No sooner said than done. The men took the wheel, and away we went through the underbrush to the woodchopper’s shack. There were four men there, washing clothes, shaving and attending to the usual Sunday chores. Our adherent explained the situation and they all hustled around to make us comfortable. One built up the fire to dry our things, another hid the wheel, one went out to the road to keep watch, while the fourth arranged a place of concealment for us in the rear of the room. Hardly were the preparations complete, when the watcher reported the coming of the farmer and the constable. We ducked to cover, the door was shut, and after a bit we heard our hosts parleying with the newcomers and demonstrating their skill in the art of graceful lying. Soon they announced that the coast was clear, but advised us to remain in retirement for an hour or two at least, and, to pass the time, suggested a trip on the river. One got out some fishing tackle, another dug bait, while a third cut rods from the willows. We all followed a winding path to the river where row boats were tied, and stepping in, were off for a little fishing excursion. The hours flew by on the wings of delight, while the men fished in cool, shady coves or rowed up stream with the oars glinting in the sun. We had a good catch, when dark shadows athwart our course and a gusty breeze that set the water rippling proclaimed the coming of another shower. Returning to the shanty, the men prepared the glistening spoils, and before the savoury dish was ready for the table, the rain was pounding on the roof. As the day waned, I became the prey of serious misgivings, but about an hour before sundown the rain slackened and four of the men declared their intention of going to town to see a show, adding that they did not expect to return till morning. Our first acquaintance cooked a hearty meal, then rigged a blanket curtain across one end of the room, and warmed and dried and fed, we retired to rest, giving thanks for the spirit of true brotherhood which often manifests itself in unlikely places.