proved as unsuccessful as the first.

Considerable time had passed--how much he did not know--but, from the
direction in which the sun glanced in the wood, he concluded that it was
as late as six o'clock, and by this time he was almost always at home.

Indeed, supper must now be ready, and his mother and their boarder,
Uncle Obed, were probably ready to sit down to the table, and only
waiting for him. It was certainly very tantalizing to be lying there
helpless, knowing that his mother would soon be anxious and troubled
about him.

"If I could only use my knife," thought Harry. "I would make short work
of these cords."

He had a knife in his pocket. If a boy has only twenty-five cents in his
pocket, he is sure to spend it for some kind of a knife, or he must be
very different from the average boy.

So, of course, Harry was provided with a knife--a good, strong
jackknife--but, for all the good it was likely to do him, it might as
well have been at home. His hands being tied, of course, he could not
get the knife out of his pocket; and, even if he had done so, how could
he make use of it?

"I never knew twine was so strong before," thought poor Harry, ruefully,
after a third unsuccessful attempt to get free.

He lay a while longer, getting more and more hopeless of an early
release. By this time his appetite began to assert itself. He had not
eaten a very hearty dinner, and naturally felt all the more hungry now.

He began to think wistfully of the good bread and butter and slices of
cold meat and pie which his mother was wont to provide for the evening
meal, and some twinges of excusable envy were felt, as he pictured James
Congreve and Philip, who had brought this trouble upon him, sitting down
at a well-covered supper table, eating as heartily as if they had not
left a victim in the woods, helpless and hungry.

"I suppose I shall have to stay here all night," thought poor Harry,
despondently.

In the morning he was confident of being released. James Congreve had
promised that he would come and release him, and Harry felt confident
that he would do so. Had it depended upon Philip, there would be small
chance of it; but it was easy to see that Philip and Congreve were not
alike. Of course, this gave him hope, but it was not pleasant to think
of a night passed in the dark wood; not that Harry was timid or
superstitious--he was neither--but it is hard not to be somewhat
affected by gloomy surroundings.

While