Burt glanced down at the watery pit below, fed from the river, and at the stream itself, chill and uninviting and carrying frequent ice-cakes on its surface. He shivered, smiling, but quite anxiously. "I can swim," he replied, "but I don't care about trying it in that ice-water bath." "You don't have to," said Phil. "I asked the question incidentally. Only, if you should happen to duck down or get under, why, I'd feel easier to know that you could reach shore." "Duck down? get under?" repeated Burt in a puzzled way. "Why, how do you mean?" "You've got to get out of this, haven't you?" demanded Phil. "I should say so." "Well, this is the only route," proceeded Phil, pointing down into the water runway. "Look down closer. See a big tub there, almost a hogshead?" "Yes, I see it!" answered Burt, staring dubiously. "Well, we are going to barrel you up in it and send you adrift." "Barrel me up?" repeated the astounded refugee. "Just that, and trust to luck that the floating tub will not be noticed by the man watching out at the south end of the mill." The big tub below was an immense affair. It was partially filled with ice which bore it down about half its depth. Its use at present had been suggested to Andy through a memory of former swimming exploits in this same vicinity. Phil slanted a board until it rested on the level ice in the tub. "Slide down," he directed. "Stoop, when you land. Then I'll lower one of these round covers. It will be loose, and you will have plenty of air. You can even look out. I will climb down the rafters, and with that pole yonder help you out into the river. Stay aboard until you pass the bend in the stream. Then land, and make for Andy's house. You know where that is?" "Oh, yes," responded Burt, "but I don't think I had better go there." "What--not among friends? Why not?" "Because the Brams will hunt me out. No," said Burt seriously, "I am through with my work in Concord, and I had better get back to Boston." "All right, you know best," said Phil, "only, move briskly, for those men in front may break in at any moment. And here," continued Phil drawing some silver from his pocket, "take that." "Oh, see here--" remonstrated Burt. "It will help out on your route home. If the trifle worries you--wish I had more--call it a loan until you get on your feet." "You're right good fellows, both of you!" said Burt, with enthusiasm and emotion. "Wait," he added, as Phil touched his arm to urge him into action, "I want to tell you something." Burt drew from an inner pocket of his coat two narrow folded strips of paper. He cast his eyes down to these as if to distinguish one from the other. Then he selected one and handed it to Phil with the question: "Let me ask you--is your father's name John Warrington?" "That is right," nodded Phil, in some wonder. "I was sure it was. Let me ask you again. Has he ever had anything particular to do with Jasper Bram?"