"I'm not either," she replied. Her glowed with excitement. "I'm from Albany...." They were interrupted by Mr. Beecham's returning. "The horse is coming," he announced. Mrs. Beecham entered the room. "Thank you for your hospitality," said Tom. "It has been a pleasure," replied Mrs. Beecham. "A pleasure, sir--a pleasure," responded her husband. Tom's dislike for the deception he was practising made him want to run from the house. For the moment he hated the idea of the expedition. He put out his hand to Marjorie. She gave him a cool, firm clasp, and looked straight into his eyes. "I wish you the best of luck for everything you undertake," she said slowly. "Thank you," he replied. "I'll need luck." Her hand gave his a quick pressure. Once again the railroad raid became a great, thrilling adventure in which he was to play a part. "He bowed and left the house. "Sam!" called Mr. Beecham. "Yassah!" answered the negro boy who was mounted upon another horse. "You stay there until this gentleman is across the river." "Yassah." Tom mounted and they started down the road. He looked back, saw Marjorie at the window, and waved. She answered him. Despite the rain which beat in their faces, Tom studied the country through which they were passing, and asked the negro boy innumerable questions. But he found his mind slipping back constantly to Marjorie. A Northern girl in the South! Surrounded by "rebs" but still true to her country! And she wished him luck! "Whose place is that?" asked Tom, pointing to a small house which was almost hidden from the road by trees. An expression of dislike came over the negro's face. "Mistah Murdock's," he answered. "A farmer?" "No, suh," replied the negro. The expression of dislike changed visibly to repugnance and fear. He added: "He keeps dawgs!" There was no need to ask more. The negro's tone was sufficient. Dogs! There was only one reason why a man made a business of keeping dogs--to chase escaping slaves. The thought was horrible to Tom, and he turned away. They found the ferryman in his shanty, hugging a stove. "No crossing today," he announced. "Look at that there river. No crossing today. Besides that, it's forbidden by the law. No Sentry, no crossing." That was good news! No Sentry! "Mr. Beecham thought that you would take me across," said Tom. "Sam, give him Mr. Beecham's note." "Yassuh." Sam produced the note. The ferryman read it, scratching his head. "That man'll be my death yet," he said. "Take a horse across today? No, sir! I'll take you across if you and the nigger'll handle oars, but not the horse! No, sir! It's against the law, anyways. No Sentry, no crossing. No, sir! I'll risk the river an' the law, just because Mr. Beecham asks it, but I can't take that there nag." "Well, then we'll leave the horse behind," answered Tom. "I can pull an oar. Can you row, Sam?" The negro backed against the wall, shaking his head, terrified at the thought of the rough crossing.