“Yes; we only moved here two months since, and I haven’t had a chance to get acquainted much. What is your name?” “Harry Gilbert.” “I suppose you live in the village?” “Yes. It’s lucky for me you came along. There isn’t much traveling through the wood. How did you happen to be here?” “I was exploring a little. I was on my way home when I heard you shout. I guess I must be going now. I have to get up early in the morning, and so I go to bed early.” “Well, good-night, Reuben. Come and see me some day. Anybody will tell you where I live.” “Thank you. If you ever come our way, stop at the farm and see me.” “So I will.” The two boys parted, with friendly good-nights. “Reuben seems a nice sort of boy,” said Harry to himself, as he threaded his way through the woods in a homeward direction. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if he hadn’t come along.” The moon was already up, though it was still early, and cast a mild radiance through the branches of the trees. The effect was fine, but Harry had no time for enjoying it, as he was in a hurry to get home and relieve his mother’s anxiety. He had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile, when he heard voices, indistinct as yet, of men, who seemed to be approaching. Ordinarily he would have kept right on, without fear or suspicion, but it might have been the experience through which he had just passed that made him more cautious. At any rate, he began to look around to see where he could best conceal himself till the newcomers passed. He caught sight of a tree that seemed easy to climb, and he swung himself up at once, ascending from limb to limb till he was probably twenty-five feet above the ground, concealed by the foliage and the obscurity of night. He had not long to wait. Presently there emerged from the thicker recesses of the wood two men, one of whom carried in his hand a tin box of considerable size. Harry scrutinized them both, but he only recognized one. That one was a man named Ralph Temple, generally considered a ne’er-do-well and a vagabond, who lived in a tumble-down shanty in the edge of the wood. “This is the place I was thinking of,” said Temple, halting about twenty feet from the tree in which Harry was concealed. “It seems a lonely, out-of-the-way place,” said his companion. “Yes; no one is likely to see the box here. No one ever comes here. There is a path through the wood, which is always used by those who pass through it.” “And this is off from the path?” “Yes.” “Where do you think it best to hide the box?” “Under that tree will be a good place; say ten feet from it, in an easterly direction.” “East and west are all alike to me here; I can’t tell the difference.” “I can; and so could you, with a compass.” “Shall you know the place again?” “Yes; do you notice that mark on the bark of the tree? It was struck by lightning once, but that was all the harm done to it.”