The man hesitated; but his brother made answer for him.

“Yes,” spoke he, “you might call it that.”

Ezra led his horse nearer to the fence and threw the rein over a post.

“Perhaps,” said he, “you wouldn’t mind being a little more definite.”

Once more the men consulted in whispers.

“He’s only a boy,” Ezra heard Josiah protest.

“But he’s from the head of matters at Boston,” argued the other, in a low but perfectly distinct tone. “They seem to trust him, so why not we?”

This seemed unanswerable reasoning; so Josiah again turned to the lad.

“Do you know this section very well?” he asked.

“No,” replied Ezra.

“Well, we do,” said the man. “In fact, we were born and raised hereabouts. And we know every man-jack for miles around.”

“Naturally,” said the boy.

“So,” proceeded Josiah, “if a stranger comes to live here, particularly a queer-acting stranger, we’d be likely to take notice of him. And if he rented the next place to ours,” with a jerk of the head down the wagonway, “we’d be likely to more than particularly take notice.”

“Well?” asked Ezra, patiently.

“Some time ago, just such a man did just that very thing,” said the farmer earnestly. “He is odd. He’s not friendly. He keeps great dogs and, save for them, seems to live alone. But now and then strangers come. They always come after dark and are gone by daylight. Who they are, and what they are, we never have been able to find out.”

“It does seem rather queer,” admitted Ezra. “But I can scarcely see just how it can have anything to do with the matter between the colonies and the King’s government.”

“Neither do we,” confessed Josiah. “We can’t see it either. But we feel it. It’s just as though we were being watched, somehow. We feel that everything 

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