e, Gus has a sneakin' notion arter that
youngest Villars gal; Virginny, ye know."

"Don't blame him!" chuckled Gad.

"But ye see, thar's that Hapgood; he's a great favoryte with the
Villarses, and Gus nat'rally wants to git him out of the way. It won't
do, though, for him to have it known he has any thing to do with our
operations. He pays us, and backs us up with plenty of cash if we get
into trouble; but he keeps dark, you understand."

"The master ought to be hung for his abolitionism!" said Gad, by way of
self-excuse for being made a jealous man's tool.

"That ar's jest my sentiment," replied Silas. "But then he's allus been
a peaceable sort of chap, and held his tongue; so he might have been let
alone some time yet, if it hadn't been for----What in time!"

Ropes started, and changed color, glancing first at Gad, then down at
the chest.

"He's in it!" whispered Gad.

Both jumped up, and, facing about, looked at the green lid, and at each
other.

The chest was so small it had not occurred to them that a man could get
into it. Lysander had got into it, however, and there he lay, so
cramped, and stifled, and compressed, that he could not endure the
torture without an effort to ease it by moving a little. He had stirred;
then all was still again.

"Think he's heerd us?" said Silas.

"Must have heerd something," said Gad.

"Then he's as good as a dead man!"

Silas drew his pistol, resolved to sacrifice the schoolmaster on the
altar of secrecy. But as he was about to fire into the chest at a
venture (for your cowardly assassin does not like to face his victim),
the lid flew open, the chivalry stepped hastily back, and up rose out of
the chest--not the schoolmaster, but--Lysander Sprowl.

Silas had struck his head against a rafter, and was quite bewildered for
a moment by the shock, the multitude of meteors that rushed across his
firmament, and the sudden apparition. Gad, at the same time, stood ready
to take a plunge down the stairs in case the schoolmaster should show
fight.

"Gentlemen," said the "wanderer on the face of the 'arth," straightening
his limbs, and saluting with a reckless air, "I hope I see ye well.
Never mind about shooting an old friend, Sile Ropes. I reckon we're
about even; and I'll keep your secret, if you'll keep mine."

"That's fair," said Ropes, recovering from the falling stars, and
putting up his weapon. "Lysander, how are ye? Good joke, ain't it?" And
they shook hands all aro