This suggested the idea of old Corbin. The retort, in the nature of a practical joke, played on the old codger at the store, had not altogether satisfied Binwell’s enmity; this, in fact, was, in a measure, reinforced by the surly silence and looks of aversion which had since been meted out to him throughout the community. It was more than curiosity which he now felt; it was a certain joy in secretly spying upon his enemy, and there was a merry sneer in his eyes as he began to push his way through the laurel. As the path curved, he saw the groove among the leaves anew before him, and he had but to follow its twists and turns. A long way it led him down the rugged descent, the laurel leaves almost closing over his head, the great forest trees rising high above the thicket, flinging their darkling shadows into the midst. He was chuckling to think what a time of it old Corbin must have had to get down. “An’ how in Kingdom Come did he ever git up ag’in?” he laughed. The words had hardly escaped his lips before he emitted a husky cry of surprise: he had come suddenly to his journey’s end. In the midst of a clear patch of rocky ground, where even the sturdy laurel could not strike root, were scattered shavings and bits of wood, and stretching into the dense growth, so long they were, lay two staunch but slender poles upon the ground. They were joined by rungs, well fitted in a workman-like manner. It was in fact a great ladder, the like of which had never been seen in Tanglefoot Cove, and, indeed, rarely elsewhere. It might have reached from the river bank to the hollows of Keedon Bluffs! As Binwell gazed with starting eyes he noted that it was nearly completed—only a few rungs remained to be set in. A sudden vibrating sound set all the stillness to jarring; he turned abruptly, his nerves tense, an oath between his teeth. It was too late for him to hide, to flee. He could only gaze in despair at Skimpy’s red head, his white wool hat set on the back of it, bobbing along through the laurel; his freckled, grinning face was bowed on Obadiah’s fiddle that wailed and complained beneath his sawing arm. Perhaps it was the urgency of the moment that made Binwell bold and rallied his quick expedients. He did not even wonder how the boy had happened to discover him. Skimpy had descried him from a distance in the open woods, and had followed, bringing the fiddle according to their agreement. Binwell looked gravely at the boy and motioned to him to advance. The fiddle ceased to shiver beneath Skimpy’s inharmonious touch, and with his eyes stretched, and his mouth too, for that matter, he pressed on down to the spot. He could not restrain a wondering “Waal, sir!” when Binwell pointed to the ladder. “Don’t say nuthin’, Skimp,” said Binwell. “Lay the fiddle an’ bow thar in the laurel; level em’ so ez they won’t fall; thar! Ye kin find ’em ag’in by that thar rock. Now take a-holt of that thar ladder, ’bout hyar; that’s the dinctum—an’ jes’ foller me.”