"Well!" ejaculated Tom in startled amazement.
"Don't you see?" gasped Ben.
"What?"
"One of the spooks Mr. Edson spoke about!"
"That's so, it must be," assented Tom. "The nightly intruder, as sure as
fate!"
The window was lowered from the inside. In a minute or two a faint light
showed. Tom started forward, joined by Ben, who was in a quiver of
excitement and suspense.
"What are you going to do, Tom?" he inquired.
"Find out who this mysterious trespasser is. Don't make any noise, Ben,
but keep close to me."
Tom gave the box into the possession of his companion, and started up
the ladder. Very cautiously he inserted the key into the padlock. He
managed to turn it and remove the padlock without making any alarming
sound. Then very slowly Tom pushed up the trap door.
A glance across to one corner of the room interested him. Upon the floor
lay the intruder. He had upset a chair, and he was using its slanting
back as a pillow. On another chair he had set a lighted piece of candle.
In a posture of ease and comfort he lay reading a well-thumbed book,
while gnawing away at a great hunk of dry bread. His face was turned
away from the trap door. He was so engrossed in eating and reading,
that, unobserved, Tom was able to get up into the room and Ben was half
way through the trap door before the trespasser was aware of it.
"Well, we've caught you right in the act, have we?" spoke Tom suddenly.
With a slight cry and starting up into a sitting posture, the intruder
stared hard at his unexpected visitors. He seemed to scan their faces
searchingly. His own, at first startled, broke into a pleasant smile.
"That's just what you've done," he admitted.
"Pretty cool about it," observed Ben.
"Not so cool as I've been, sleeping in the damp grass a few foggy
mornings lately. What are you going to do with me, fellows?"
The speaker rose to his feet with something of an effort. Then Tom
noticed that he limped on one foot. The lad was thin and pale, too. He
righted the upset chair and sat down on it. Ben placed the box on a
table and leaned against it, regarding the stranger with curiosity. Tom
sank into another chair.
"We're not judges or officers," he said, "but we are in charge here
now."
"Then I'd better get out, I suppose," said the boy.
"What did you come in for in the first place? That's what we're
interested in knowing," remarked Ben pointedly.
The stranger shrugged his shoulders in a way that was quite pathetic.
"See here," he said soberly, "if you had a foot pretty nigh cut off by a
scythe right on top of a hard spell of the typhoid fever, and no place
to eat or sleep, you'd burrow in most anywhere lying around loose,
wouldn't you?"
"Does that describe your case?" questioned Tom.
"Just exactly," responded the lad, a quick dry click in his throat. "I'm
not able to do my old work, and you might call me a roving convalescent,
see?" and he chuckled. "I manage to pick up enough food. I spotted this
place, tried to keep out of anybody's way, and tidied it up to pay for
wearing out the floor boards. Then, too, I frightened off two tramps one
night, who would have ransacked everything in sight if I hadn't made
them believe I was a private watchman."
"But where do you live?" asked Ben.
"Here, if you'll let me," was the prompt reply.
"We'll do better than that," said Tom, who had been studying the boy's
face and manner closely, and each succeeding moment was attracted more
and more by his honest eyes and frank ways.
"Will you?" questioned the lad wonderingly.
"Yes," assured Tom. "To be plain about it, you are homeless and
friendless."
"To be plain about it, you've just hit the nail on the head."
"All right; when we leave here you come along."
"Where to?"
"My home. You shall have a good supper, and I'm sure my mother will let
me rig up a comfortable bed for you in the garret."
"Mattress?" queried the stranger with a grin.
"Of course."
"Pillow?" he asked additionally
"Yes."
The boy chuckled.
"Say," he spoke in a half sad, half gloating way, "it's so long since I
saw such things I can hardly realize it. I suppose you want to know my
name?"
"We'd like to," said Ben.
"Then call me Ashley, Harry Ashley. If anybody asks what I am, just tell
them a poor lonely fellow in hard luck, but mending as fast as he can,
and not afraid to tackle any job that means pay for work."
"That rings true," said Ben.
Tom got busy shoving the box he had brought from the village under the
table. He had lighted a lamp. About to extinguish it, he glanced around
the room to see that everything was in shape for the night.
"Come on, Ben, you too," directed Tom. "Blow out your candle, and we'll
make a start."
The boy calling himself Harry Ashley limped over towards the chair
holding the candle. At that moment there was an interruption. With a
sharp tang the receiver began to pop out dots, dashes and echoing
clicks.
"Some one on the line!" pronounced Ben quickly.
"Yes," nodded Tom, hastening over to the instrument. "Hello!"
Tom gave a vivid start. For over a month he had been acquiring the Morse
code alphabet. Novice as he was, he was able to translate the rapid
furious dots and dashes that sounded in the earpiece of the apparatus.
"The spooks!" Ben gasped.
"Yes," assented Tom quite stirred up himself--"'Donner!'"
"What's that?" exclaimed Harry Ashley. He turned as white as a sheet,
and began trembling all over, and stood staring askance at Tom, the
instrument and Ben.