“Oh, dear, yes! He was a farmer or something out in Illinois. He probably pays a dollar or two a week board at Gilberts’. They’re dreadfully poor, you know. I shouldn’t be surprised if all hands were in the poorhouse before the year is out.” “Your uncle and all?” “He isn’t my uncle!” said Philip, snappishly. “Relative, then. You wouldn’t want a relative in the poorhouse?” “Pa offered to pay his expenses back to Illinois, but the old fellow was obstinate and wouldn’t go. I expect he’s hanging round here in hopes of getting something out of pa and ma; but it’s no use, as he’ll find out sooner or later.” “Strange he went to board with the Gilberts, isn’t it?” “Oh, it’s a good enough place for a rusty old chap like him. He ain’t used to living in any style. Ma says he’s half crazy.” By this time they had reached the borders of the wood, and soon they came to the place where Harry had been left bound. “Why, he isn’t here!” exclaimed Philip, in surprise and disappointment. “So it appears.” “How could he have got away?” James Congreve, bending over, searched carefully, and at length got some light on the subject. “Somebody cut the cords,” he said. “Look here—and here!” and he pointed out fragments of the strong cord with which the captive had been bound. “That’s so. Do you think he did it himself?” asked Philip, disappointed. “No; he was too securely tied. I took care of that. Somebody came along and released him.” “I hope he had to stay all night, at any rate,” said Philip. “That we cannot discover at present. One thing is certain—he’s free.” “I’m sorry I came,” muttered Philip. “I have had this long walk for nothing.” “You haven’t had the satisfaction of releasing him, I suppose, you mean?” “No, I don’t. I wanted to see how he looked. It’s too bad he got away.” “There’s nothing for it but to go back,” said Congreve. “You’d better look out for him. He may want to pay you off.” “He’d better not try it,” said Philip, but he seemed uneasy at the thought. On their way back they passed, unconsciously, near the place where the tin box was concealed. Hovering near the spot was Ralph Temple, uneasy for the safety of the buried treasure. He eyed the two young fellows with suspicion. They had no guns in their hands, and he could not understand what object they had in coming to this out-of-the-way place so early in the morning. “What are you about here?” he demanded, roughly. Philip was frightened and turned pale; but James Congreve only surveyed the man curiously, and said: “Is that any business of yours, my friend?” “You’ll find out whether it’s any business of mine,” returned Temple, angrily. “That’s precisely what I would like to find out,” said Congreve, coolly. “You accost us as if you were the owner of the wood, which, I take it, you are not.” “Do you want me to wring your neck, young man?” said Temple, with a growl. “Oh, don’t make him angry, James!” begged Philip, nervously, laying his hand on Congreve’s arm.