.

She was of German descent at least, and she showed bitterness toward
"the Yankees." However, she proved herself to be a hospitable hostess.
It was her southern, not her Teutonic, training probably that led to
this.

Whistler could not read German, and he did not know that any member of
his party could do so. Nevertheless, he crumpled the bit of paper in his
hand and thrust it into his pocket, biding his time until he could show
it to Mr. MacMasters.

It was ten o'clock before the stew was ready to be dished up. The aroma
of it awakened the hungry men.

"This must be heaven, for it smells like mother's cooking!" declared
Slim. "Oh, yum, yum! Oh, boy!"

"The old lady ain't no angel," put in Jemmy; "but she sure can cook."

"And angels can't, I guess," added Torrance, grinning.

"Say, boy!" grinned Rosy, "didn't you ever eat angel cake?"

Whistler found his chance to speak to Mr. MacMasters when the others
crowded around the table. Mag put the steaming kettle of stew in the
middle of the bare board and ladled it out into brown earthen bowls.

"See what I found on the floor here, Mr. MacMasters," Whistler said
quietly, and thrusting the paper into the ensign's hand. "Don't let the
old woman see it, sir."

Mr. MacMasters was cautious. He held the paper under the edge of the
table and saw almost instantly what the communication was and to whom it
was addressed.

"That's the name of that spy you boys say blew up the Elmvale dam, and
was out on that oil tender we chased in the submarine patrol boat, isn't
it?" whispered the ensign. "I declare! Did you find it here?"

"Yes, sir. You see, the edge of the paper is browned. The whole letter
was probably thrown into the fire on the hearth and this piece failed to
be destroyed."

"You've hit it right, I fancy," agreed the officer. "Something queer
about this old woman and about this place."

"She knows we are from the _Kennebunk_, too. How should she know so much
if she wasn't in with the spies?"

"And she knew too much about the steamer being mined in the channel
over there," muttered Mr. MacMasters.

"It looks as if we were watched by the spies and that she is in cahoots
with them," Whistler suggested.

"Humph! Maybe. You can't read this letter, I suppose, Morgan?"

"No, sir. None of us boys read German. Not even Ikey, although he
understands the language quick enough when it is spoken. And poor Ikey
isn't here!"

"Don't worry about that," advised Mr. Ma