This thought had no sooner suggested itself to him than he prepared to act upon it. Everything favored him. The door of the room, opening as it did into a narrow passage-way that led from the barn into the corn-crib, was out of sight of anybody who might happen to be on the barn floor. The only difficult thing for him to do, was to get out of the passage-way without being seen. That being accomplished he did not care who saw him--provided, of course, that the members of the family kept out of the way--for no one could tell where he came from. “But I must first make sure of a way of retreat,” thought Don, as he looked about the room for something with which to draw the nails that held the window. “I must get back into this room, somehow, and it may not be quite safe to get back the same way I go out.” But Don could not find a hammer or anything else to draw the nails with, so he broke them off by prying them up and down with the end of his walking-stick. Then he raised the window, placing a stick under it to keep it open, and unhooked the shutter which fitted tightly enough to remain closed, even when it was not fastened. After that he looked into the mirror again, touched up one or two white spots on his hands and face, grasped his walking-stick, and slipped out into the passage-way. Locking the door he put the key into his pocket, and moved cautiously down the passage-way until he could look into the barn. There was no one there except the hostler, and he was busy and his back was turned toward Don. Moving with noiseless footsteps, the boy succeeded in walking out into the middle of the floor before he was discovered. He did not expect to be recognised by the hostler, for the latter was a new hand who had never been acquainted with Jordan; but there were some negroes at work in the field close by who knew the old fellow he was now personating, and toward them Don directed his course. The hostler looked up from his work when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and seeing a strange negro approaching, spoke to him very civilly; but Don took no notice of him. He was playing ghost now, and ghosts did not speak to anybody--at least he had never heard that they did. Walking straight out of the door he turned toward the place where the negroes were at work, and had not made many steps before one of them discovered him. He straightened up quickly, shaded his eyes with his hand, and said a few words in a low tone to his companions, who also turned and looked at Don. They gazed fixedly at him for a moment, and then broke out into a chorus of greeting. “Bress my soul an’ body, if dar ain’t ole uncle Jordan!” they exclaimed in concert. “It’s all right,” thought Don. “If they can’t recognise me in the daytime, I am sure Godfrey Evans will not know me in the dark. I believe if I should go into the house I could fool everybody there.”