he bounded up the crest of the hill
and over the other side; but quite as quickly came one of the three
Indians in hot pursuit. The other two, confident of their companion's
speed, waited below for him to return with his prisoner.

Tom was too heavy to run far, and soon the Indian had him in his ugly
clutch.

"Name?" asked the Indian, taking Tom by the shoulders.

"Thomas Toogood," was the boy's frightened reply.

"Ugh!" grunted the Indian. Then, appreciating Tom's clumsiness, the
Indian loosened his grasp for a moment to straighten some cords with
which to bind his captive. As the red man stooped with gun under his arm,
for an instant he turned his back. Tom, for once in his life not slow, in
a flash seized the gun and aimed it at the Indian.

"You shout for help, and I'll shoot," he cried, backing away, and then
with more dexterity than hitherto seemed possible, Tom continued to back
with gun still pointed at the Indian, who muttered, "Tom no good, no
good!"

Once out of momentary danger, before the Indian could signal to the
others, Tom had plunged into the thicket and taken a short cut home. He
was again in possession of a gun, and he had met an adventure which must
command the respect of the family and prove to his sister his worth as an
escort.

THE ESCAPE

"This, my little Dick, is a fine holiday for us," exclaimed Mrs. Waldron
as she lifted her baby from his hooded crib. "Your father has promised an
outing, and you shall go with us to the farm far up the river. Some day,
my little boy, you shall gather the strawberries there yourself, and play
in the hay, and hunt for eggs."

As she tossed her baby while she chatted, he seemed to be caught in
mid-air by the tall soldierly gentleman who had entered. After a moment
of play, Mrs. Waldron turned soberly to her husband.

"Now, Richard, will you use every argument possible to persuade Madam
Ursula Cutt to return with us to Portsmouth? The French have so stirred
the Indians in the East that it is not safe for her to remain on that
remote farm."

"She has insisted," protested Col. Waldron, "that the haying must be done
first. Until the crop is safely stored, it will be hard to start her.
However, the weather has been warm and dry, so it may even now be done.
Our boat is ready, can you go soon?"

It was a wonderful July day in 1694. Mrs. Waldron followed her husband
down the garden slope to the sparkling river and had already passed
little Dick i