What was to be done?  It was a puzzling, but pertinent question.  By hook or by crook I must get free.  At great risk of hurting my head I rolled to the door of the tool house, which Stumpy had left wide open.  Outside, the stars were shining brightly, and in the southwest the pale crescent of the new moon was falling behind the tree-tops, casting ghostly shadows that would have made a timid person shiver.  But as the reader may by this time know, I was not of a timid nature, and I gave the shadows scant attention until a sudden movement among the trees attracted my notice.  It was the figure of some person coming rapidly toward me.

At first I judged it must be Stumpy returning, and I was on the point of rolling back to my hiding-place when I saw that the newcomer was a boy.

When he reached the edge of the clearing he paused, and approached slowly.

“Roger Strong!” he called out.  I instantly recognized the voice of Dick Blair, one of the youngest members of the Models, who, during my capture, had had little to say or do.  He was the son of a wealthy farmer who lived but a short distance down the road from the Widow Canby’s place.

I had always considered Dick a pretty good chap, and had been disagreeably surprised to see him in company with Duncan Woodward’s crowd.  How Duncan had ever taken up with him I could not imagine, except it might have been on account of the money Dick’s father allowed him to have.

“Roger Strong!” he repeated.  “Are you still here?”

I could, not imagine what had brought him to this place at such an hour of the night.  Yet I answered at once.

“Yes, I am, Dick Blair.”

“I thought maybe you had managed to get away,” he continued, as he came closer.

“No; you fellows did your work pretty well,” I replied as lightly as I could, for I did not want to show the white feather.

“Precious little I had to do with it,” he went on, as he struck a match and lit a lantern that he carried.

“You were with the crowd.”

“I know it; but I wouldn’t have been if I’d known what they were up to.  I hope you will not think too badly of me, Roger.”

“I thought it was strange you would go into anything of this kind, Dick.  What brings you back to-night?”

“I am ashamed of the whole thing,” he answered earnestly, “and I came to release you—­ that is, on certain conditions.”

My heart gave a bound.  “What conditions, Dick?”

“I want you to promise that you won’t tell who set you free,” he explained.  “If Dunc or the rest heard of it, they would never forgive me.”

“What of it, Dick?  Their opinion isn’t worth anything.”

“I know it—­ now.  But they could tell mighty mean stories about me if they wanted to.”  And Dick Blair turned away and shuffled his foot on the ground to hide his shame.

“Don’t mind them, Dick.  If they start any bad report about you, do as I’m doing with the stain on our name—­ live it down.”