e for two very good and
sufficient reasons. The first, that it was necessary I obey the summons
to present myself at Cambridge, and again, that I must preserve my
liberty if I would do anything toward aiding the dear lad whom I doubted
not was lodged in the prison on Queen street.

How it might be possible for me to succor him had not come to my mind,
yet I believed that with all our company of Minute Boys to aid,
something might be done even while he was held by the king's men, who
would rather shoot him down than allow a rebel to escape from their
clutches.

Then it was I began to cast about for some plan which would promise at
least a shadow of success, and I had ample time before me for such
effort, unless, perchance, some inquisitive lobster back or marine came
upon our hiding place.

It was not possible for me to make much headway in laying plans. I
worked out one in my mind only to abandon it; then another to find it
was impossible of execution, and again a third which proved yet wilder
than the others, until the heat of the sun, which beat down upon me in
full fervor, and the low murmur of the water on the shingly beach,
lulled me to drowsiness. Even while saying to myself that I must remain
awake and on guard, I fell asleep, being conscious of nothing more
until, without apparent cause, I opened my eyes to find that the sun
was in the western sky and Hiram sitting with his elbows on his knees
and his chin in his hands, regarding me fixedly.

"What's the matter?" I cried incautiously loud as I rose to a sitting
posture.

"The matter is that we are tied here all these hours instead of being in
Cambridge where, mayhap, there is plenty for us to do."

"How long have you been awake?"

"Nigh about three days, as it seems to me, though I reckon it can't be
more than a couple of hours."

"Have you seen or heard anything of the Britishers?"

"As much as you may see now by looking out from among the bushes. No one
has come our way, and if they had I believe I'd eaten them, for since
yesterday morning no bite of food has passed my lips."

It would have been better for me if he had refrained from speaking of
food, because the mere words made me hungry, and on the instant I
realized, or fancied I did, that my mouth was parched with thirst. The
knowledge that I could minister to neither one desire nor the other,
until we were come to Cambridge, only served to make them all the more
intense.

It would be worse