ho
seemed to be an elderly man with gray hair and a beard of the same
color. Whatever he was saying, both Mr. Masterson and Sarah seemed to be
hanging on his words as if they were deeply interested.

Fred gave a sigh. He was secretly disappointed, to tell the truth.
Perhaps he had conceived a faint expectation that something about the
man might seem familiar; for he had not forgotten how the returned
Alaska miner, Hiram Masterson, had looked when he rode about in Squire
Lemington's carriage. But there was not the least resemblance so far as
he could note between this elderly person and the gay-looking young
miner.

"I was foolish to ever think that," Fred said to himself, as he again
started in the direction of the farmhouse door.

In this mood, then he reached the door, and knocked. The sound echoed
through the house, for Fred had laid his knuckles rather heavily on the
upper panel of the double Dutch door.

He heard a scuffling sound, to indicate that chairs had been hurriedly
pushed back. Apparently, then, his knock had created something of a
little panic within, though Fred could hardly understand why that should
be so.

After waiting a reasonable time, without either Sarah or her father
coming to the door, Fred again gave a knock.

"Mr. Masterson!" Fred called out, in the hope that his voice might
happen to be recognized, so as to allay their fears.

Then he saw that someone was coming in answer to his second summons.
Under the door appeared a thin thread of light. This announced that the
door between had been opened, and a lamp was being carried into the
front room.

Fred wondered just at that moment whether it would be Sarah or her
father who might open the door. He knew Mr. Masterson was recovering his
strength; but still he must be more or less weak, after a spell of
sickness. And in that event Sarah was apt to be the one to come.

Well, he would ask to see her father then, so as to get a few minutes
conversation with the other. Sarah would be surprised to see him, of
course, at this queer hour, and in his running costume.

Fred almost wished now he had changed his mind, and turned away before
giving that knock. But it was too late. He could hear someone drawing
back the bolt by which the door was fastened. The Mastersons had gone
through one unpleasant experience, and they did not want another, if
such a small thing as a new bolt on the door would ward it off.

Now the door had begun to open, and