The stranger, as Phil and Andy saw, had some kind of a parcel done up in paper. This he had rested on a solitary tree stump. Then with flint and steel he ignited some tinder he had placed across the top of the tree stump. As this ignited, he retreated to a little distance. The tiny flames curled around the paper, and finally there was a giant puff. The strange boy watched the ascending smoke for a minute or two and then pursued his way, disappearing over the crest of the hill. "You cut around that way," directed Andy, pointing, "and run across to him. I'll head him off at the bottom of the hill if he tries to run away from us." The boys had disencumbered themselves of their muskets and game bags to brace for a dash. Phil somewhat hesitated. "I say, Andy," he observed, nodding towards a line of low rail fencing, "won't we be trespassing?" "Where? when?" demanded Andy, somewhat puzzled, staring askance at his comrade. "That's old Jasper Bram's property, isn't it," asked Phil. "Yes, and this, too," replied Andy. "What of it? This is not like Boston--no trespassing around these diggings. Free as the air, Phil, full range when a fellow wants to make a short cut or chase a rabbit." "I don't know about that in this especial case," said Phil to himself, with a grimace. "Andy don't quite understand our pleasant family relations with Jasper Bram. I met the old curmudgeon once since I came to Concord, and I don't fancy a second encounter. Here goes, though, on a venture!" and Phil promptly started in the direction indicated by his chum. Two things were uppermost in Phil Warrington's mind as he made for the hilltop--Jasper Bram and the mysterious boy he was after, the latter first of all, in a speculative, curious sort of way. Two nights previous Andy and his friends had held a club meeting in the roomy loft of Mr. Sabine's old barn. They had wound up with a kind of banquet. Phil, starting with Andy to escort their guests home, suddenly remembered that he had left his pocket knife on the rude deal boards that had answered for the banqueting table. "Go on, boys, I'll catch up with you in a minute or two," Phil had remarked, running back to the barn, which he soon reached. He clambered to the loft, and by aid of the bright moonlight, made his way to the table, groped for his pocket knife, secured it, and was about to leave the place when a sound at one end of the loft caused him to turn quickly. Some one had mounted the sloping roof of an adjoining shed and had pulled open a narrow wooden window. This person was a boy. He was reaching towards a barrel on which stood some of the remnants of the recent feast. "Hold on, there!" irresistibly called out Phil. Then, noticing more closely the outline of the marauder, he added: "Don't run. Take what you want--nothing to be scared at. I say, haven't I seen you before?"