Phil went into the house. Andy stood alone in the barn, halting reflectively. He had spoken of "the company," and he felt quite the leader and captain. Andy had won a war record. His loyal fellows had enthusiastically resolved to do and die under his direction, and Andy intended to do his share when the actual fighting began. "Hello, Andy," spoke an interrupting voice and Ralph Post entered the barn. "S--st!" he added, raising his linger warningly to his lips. "Talk low. No movement of the British as yet. That's the news your father sends from headquarters. Say, Andy," continued Ralph in a low whisper, "there's a spy outside." "Eh? what? who?" demanded Andy, with a start. "Don't know. He's on the plank running across the two rain casks--head nearly on a level with the second story of the barn, and he tip-toes when he wants to look in through the window of the loft." "Come with me," cried Andy instantly. "A spy, eh? I can't imagine--aha! I see." Ralph it seemed had entered the barn without being seen by the spy in question. Andy, quite as fortunate, now glanced around a corner of the structure. At its other end he made out the lurking form Ralph had described. Dodging back, he whispered hurriedly to his companion, and Ralph ran around the barn. Andy himself waited a minute or two, edged around the corner again, noticed the lurker on tip-toe, calculated his chances, and with a sudden movement seized the end of the plank and gave it a swift pull. There was a dancing figure over the water cask for a second or two, a wild clutching at space, and then, as Ralph came abruptly into view, the lurker missed his hold and disappeared with a yell and a splash into the cask, full to the brim. "Duck him again," ordered Andy, rushing to the centre of attraction. "Greg Bram! I thought so. Up there, hey? Company to the rescue!" Once, twice, a dozen times the would-be spy went under the surface. The crowd came downstairs and direct to the scene of commotion. It was only when Greg Bram's plaintive bellowings became weak, showing that he was nearly exhausted, that the boys let up on him. A dripping, dilapidated specimen of humanity he staggered from the spot amid the jeers and hootings of the patriotic boys. Phil, after a hurried meal, coming out of the house, saw the end of the episode. Greg became his guide, for it was to Jasper Bram's that Phil was bound. The son amid his chagrin and misery made straight for the parental roof. Phil trailed Greg clear up to the door of his home, and then glided around to the side of the building, posting himself just beyond an open window looking into the room, up and down which old Bram was pacing, some rare excitement and a look of satisfaction expressed on his weazened, avaricious face. As Greg burst into the room, wild with rage and uncomfortable to the last extreme, the old man stared at him in amazement and then in wrath. "Nice plight you're in!" he cried. "Now, what does this mean?"