"Oh, he is to see us later," explained Phil. "Good!" vociferated Andy eagerly--"when? where?" "That's all arranged. That passport of his calls on all loyal patriots to assist him when possible. So I think the first thing for us to do is to get up a roaring good meal for him, and carry it to his hideout." "Oh, he has a hideout, then, has he?" persisted the inquisitive Andy. "Yes, and we are to meet him there about dusk." Phil and Andy got some water from the well and put out the smoking window frame in the shed, and reached home without any further adventures. There was a good deal that was inexplicable in the occurrences of the afternoon, but they trusted to later expected developments to clear the situation. Andy had free range at home, and within an hour the chums were on the march again. They carried with them a basket well filled with eatables. The old cooper shop was a landmark of Concord. It had once been a grist mill, but now in moderate weather was used as a work shop by an old villager, who made kegs, barrels and vats. It was a good hiding place in winter, for it was not much in use except during the warm months of the year. The boys crossed the bridge over the river. That stream was open. Ponds and ditches had frozen up, but the river showed clear water and a steady current, with occasional floating cakes of ice. It was getting on towards dusk when Phil and Andy reached the old mill. It had windows supplied with wooden bars and a great high door. The latter they found closed. "Hello, inside there!" shouted Andy, knocking vigorously on the stout planking. Phil whistled sharply once or twice. The door ran in a groove. It was rolled open about a foot. "It's us," announced Phil, as a cautious head protruded. "Oh, all right," answered the strange boy. "Squeeze in quick. Look around first though, will you? Weren't followed? Didn't see anybody lurking about, did you?" he inquired quite anxiously. "For a fact, we didn't think about it," replied Andy. "What are you afraid of, neighbor, anyhow?" "Seems, nothing--I am," replied the boy soberly enough. "Principally, I am afraid of Jasper Bram." "Knows you, does he?" interrogated Andy. "Only too well--he and his brother, and that son of his, Greg. I've kept out of his clutches so far. I wouldn't like to get into them now, just as I am going away from here with my work done." "What work?" projected Andy forcibly, his eager soul in his face, his eyes sparkling with animation. The strange boy gave him a keen and then a meditative glance. He seemed studying seriously some difficult problem in his mind. Phil saw that he was troubled. The Boston youth, who was a natural leader of boys, understood that they were dealing with a lad in a strained position, his nerves all on edge, filled with alarm, on the perpetual jump and go, and might be scared off the track again by a suspicious word or an impulse of timidity.