y just sense a
guardian.

Harry did not reason out all this; he only felt it. What was Jacob
Wire to him? What was even Squire Walker to him? What did they care
about his true welfare? Nothing. Harry so understood it, and acted
accordingly.

The future was full of trials and difficulties. But his heart was
stout; and the events of the last chapter inspired him with confidence
in his own abilities. He entered the dark woods, and paused to rest
himself. What should he do next?

While he was discussing this question in his own mind he heard the
sound of voices on the road, which was not more than fifty rods
distant. It was George Leman and Jacob Wire. In a few minutes he heard
the sound of wagon wheels; and soon had the satisfaction of knowing
that his pursuers had abandoned the chase and were returning home.

The little fugitive was very tired and very sleepy. It was not
possible for him to continue his journey, and he looked about him for
a place in which to lodge. The night was chilly and damp; and as he
sat upon the rock, he shivered with cold. It would be impossible to
sleep on the wet ground; and if he could, it might cost him his life.
It was a pine forest; and there were no leaves on the ground, so that
he could not make such a bed as that in which he had slept the
previous night.

He was so cold that he was obliged to move about to get warm. It
occurred to him that he might get into some barn in the vicinity, and
nestle comfortably in the hay; but the risk of being discovered was
too great, and he directed his steps towards the depths of the forest.

After walking some distance, he came to an open place in the woods.
The character of the growth had changed, and the ground was covered
with young maples, walnuts and oaks. The wood had been recently cut
off over a large area, but there were no leaves of which he could make
a bed.

Fortune favored him, however; for, after advancing half way across the
open space he reached one of those cabins erected for the use of men
employed to watch coal pits. It was made of board slabs, and covered
with sods. Near it was the circular place on which the coal pit had
burned.

At the time of which I write, charcoal was carried to Boston from many
towns within thirty miles of the city. Perhaps my young readers may
never have seen a coal pit. The wood is set up on the ends of the
sticks, till a circular pile from ten to twenty feet in diameter is
formed and two tiers in he