ir permanent abode in the
camp. Those who had families to look out for now and then visited their
homes during the daytime; but judging by the way things looked now, that
small privilege would soon be denied them.

"And when it comes so that we can't see our folks for fear of being
shot, or marched off to jail, we'll take to visiting them in the
nighttime," said Mr. Webster, in concluding his story. "And if we have
to do that, we'll light fires to show us the way back to camp."

Having disposed of a good share of the contents of the brown basket, Mr.
Webster declared that it was time for them to start for the camp, which
was located in one of Captain Beardsley's wood lots, and not more than
five miles away. He said that, as long as Captain Beardsley continued to
trouble him and his friends, they would sleep on his grounds, warm
themselves and cook their meals over fires built with wood that was cut
from his trees, steal his corn meal and bacon, and shoot his hogs as
often as they came within range of the camp. Mr. Webster's canoe was
close by, and when he stepped into it he fastened the painter of Marcy's
boat to a cleat in the stern, so that the two little crafts would not
become separated in the darkness. It might require some talking to bring
them together again, and they did not want to do much of that until they
were safe in camp. As they shoved off from the bank they took a last
look at that bright spot on the clouds, which had been growing brighter
and larger every moment since it appeared, bearing unmistakable
testimony to the destructive work that was going on beneath it. If the
fire had attracted the attention of the Home Guards (and Marcy did not
see how it could be otherwise), they did not reach the creek in time to
save the schooner. Marcy wondered what Captain Beardsley's feelings were
about that time.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CONCLUSION.

When Marcy Gray opened his eyes the next morning at daylight, he was in
the camp of the refugees, which was to be his home, at irregular
intervals, for long months to come, and surrounded by men who, like
himself, were being persecuted for their opinions' sake. The camp was
located on an island in a remote corner of the swamp that Marcy had
never seen before, although he had hunted through the country for miles
on every side of his mother's plantation. In the middle of the island
was a cleared space, perhaps fifty feet in diameter, and all the bushes
and trees that h