“You’re mighty kind,” said the refugee.  “Hold on.  I want to tell you something.  Of course you think I’m acting strange.  Some day, though, if things come out right, I’ll explain to you, and you will say I did just right.  There’s another thing:  you may think from my actions I am some desperate character.  I hope I may burn up right in this shed to-night if I’m not telling the truth when I say to you that I never touched a dishonored penny, never harmed a soul, never did a wrong thing knowingly.”

“I have confidence in your word, Mr. Baker,” said Bart simply.

“Thank you, I’ll prove I deserve it yet,” declared the strange man.

There was a spell of silence.  Finally Bart decided to venture a question on a theme he was very curious about.

“Do you know Colonel Jeptha Harrington?” he asked suddenly.

“Hoo—­eh?”

He had startled Baker—­his incoherent mutterings persuaded Bart of this.

“Don’t you want to tell?” continued Bart.  “All right, only it was you who waved an arm at him from the freight car this afternoon, wasn’t it, now?”

“Well, yes, it was,” admitted Baker in a low tone.

“And you said something to him.”

“Yes, I did.  See here, I heard him calling you down and threatening you, for I slunk up to the shed here to see what he was up to.  I’m interested in him, I am, and so are others.  When I got back in hiding I spoke out, I told him something—­something that made his crabbed old soul wizen up, something that scared the daylights out of him.  He had a brother, once.  He’s dead, now.  I said something that made this old rascal think his brother’s ghost had come back to earth to haunt him.”

“How could you do that?” inquired Bart, very much interested.

“Because I had certain knowledge.  Don’t ask any further.  It will all come out, some day—­the day I’m waiting and working for.  You saw how he was affected.  Well, I threatened things that laid him out flat if he dared to so much as place a straw in your path.”

“I understand, now,” said Bart.

He waited for a minute or two, hoping Baker would divulge something further, but he did not do so, and Bart said good night, secured the padlock on the outside, and left the place with a parting cheery direction to his strange pensioner to sleep soundly and rest well.

The little ones were in bed when Bart got home, but his mother and the girls were sitting on the porch.  Pretty well tired out, Bart joined them, and they all sat watching the last of the display of fireworks over near the common.

“This has been a pretty dull Fourth for you, Bart,” said his mother sympathizingly.

“It has been a very busy Fourth, mother,” returned Bart cheerfully—­“I might say a very hopeful, happy Fourth.  Except for the anxiety about father, I think I should feel very grateful and contented.”

A graceful rocket parted the air at a distance, followed by the delighted shouts of juvenile spectators.