"I wish Moth were hanged, the scamp!" I cried; "he has caused enough trouble." "Oh, I don’t know," Fox answered. "He sees things as he sees them. But now about your Uncle Job’s affair, for abusing Moth is not going to get him out of jail." "No, but you will," I answered, confidently. "I don’t know. I will do what I can; but if you want me to be of help, go on to the Dragon and find out more about the affair. Everything, mind, not overlooking a word or look. For it is always some trifle nobody regards that affords the clew to every crime, the constables say." "I will," I cried, starting off. "Hold on there! When you have found out all you can I want you to come and tell me." "Yes; where—at the Eagle’s Nest?" "No, that is too far for you to go; Hayward’s Ferry will be better." "When shall I come?" I asked. "To-night, and as soon after dark as you can." "Where, Mr. Hayward’s house?" "No; in the grove below the landing. Now be off. The sun’s coming up, and people are stirring about like flies on a piece of ice. Good by, and don’t fail to bring me all the news." "No, I’ll not," I answered, starting on a run, greatly elated at having at last enlisted Fox in Uncle Job’s behalf. *CHAPTER XXXVIII* *THE DRAGON’S MASTER* Nearing the Dragon, I discovered Mr. Seymour standing on the porch, without hat or coat, smoking a pipe, an occupation that seemed greatly to his liking, as indeed it is to most of his sturdy countrymen. Shivering in the icy air, I thought his dress far from appropriate; but then Englishmen are hardier than we, though why this should be I do not know, unless they are bred in a more rugged climate or spend more of their time in the open air. Scanning his ruddy face and upright figure, all the things I had been taught as a schoolboy to believe of his countrymen came back as if to puzzle me by their presence. But were the stories true? I asked myself as I walked on more slowly. Yes, every one of them, and more; but if that were so, then Mr. Seymour could not be like the others—those sent hither in the Colonial days by the Odious King whom the forefathers defied and treated with scorn and contumely. No! He was an exception to the Sodden Crew, the consorters of Hessians and the like. Or, after all, were McGuffy’s stories of Oppression and the Flaming Torch vain and wanton imaginings only! No! They were true enough; and it is thou, sweet Constance, that hast led me to doubt, and who will in the end, if I do not have a care, uproot all the traditions of my country, making its patriotic pillars to topple and fall as if they were not. Come back to me, then, thou sturdy belief in the Cruel Oppressor in the days when the patriots resolved and fought, and in the end filled all the places of preferment and profit. Hated Englishmen! Monsters of greed! Oppressors of the patriots! Devisers of stamps and