While Ben was debating the painful question, a growing light in the direction of the Delaware told him the night was ended and the new day dawning. The fourth day of July, the second anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, had passed. He thought of it, standing alone in the dismal forest with danger on every hand, and oppressed by the great fear that those whom he loved more than his own life must perish in that gloomy wilderness. He did not dare, however, to give way to his sad thoughts. At the first streakings of light among the trees, he roused his mother and told her the alarming truth. "I do not understand it," she replied, alluding to the absence of the Iroquois; "it must be they are in the neighborhood." The children were still sleeping quietly on the blanket. No food or water was at command, and they could not take the time to look for any. Indeed, the two elder ones felt no hunger or thirst. The mother rose to her feet and looked around, her interest centring on the rock and boulders, which stretched away to the rear further than they could penetrate with the eye. "I know they are skilful in following footprints," she remarked; "but if we walk carefully over those rocks, I think they will not be able to track us. We will try it." The children were roused and quickly learned what was to be done, the mother adding that the prayer which she was accustomed to offer up every morning would be given when they reached a spot where it was safe to do so. For fully a hundred yards the four were able to make their way without resting their feet on the ground. Then the boulders ended as abruptly as they began. All now kneeled on the granite floor and asked Heaven to deliver them safely out of the dangers by which they were surrounded. If the Indians chose to make search, after tracing the little party to the stony place, they must eventually come upon the new trail, where it began again on the ground; but unless they struck it by accident, they must use a good deal of time in hunting for it. "Come on," called Ben in a low voice, but with a renewal of hope; "we shall get somewhere one of these days." To their surprise, not far from the rocks they came upon a faintly marked path among the trees. "What is the meaning of that?" Ben asked, looking inquiringly at his mother and Linna. "Men don't do dat--wild beasts," replied the dusky child. "She is right," added the mother; "the animals follow it to water; let us do the same." The haunting fear of the red men made the words between the fugitives few, and all their movements guarded. They kept glancing to right and left, in front and to the rear, Linna being probably the most active. It was as if she inherited from her parents their surprising woodcraft, and was now calling it into play for the benefit of her friends. Suddenly something flickered in the path ahead, and Ben stopped short, those behind him doing the same.