you try to do something you get your fingers burnt."
To this the son could not answer, for he knew that his father spoke the truth.
A long talk followed, and then Dan Baxter left, promising to return before noon of the next day. He was to proceed to a town about twelve miles away and there purchase for his father a new suit of clothing and a preparation for dyeing his hailand beard. With this disguise Arnold Baxter hoped to get away from the vicinity and reach Boston without being recognized.
So far the night had been clear, but now a storm was brewing. From a great distance came a rumble of thunder and occasionally a glimpse of lightning lit up the landscape.
"You'll have a bad journey of it," said Arnold Baxter to his son as the latter was leaving.
"Reckon I'll have to make the best of it," answered Dan. "But I've got used to such things, since I've been knocking around the ocean and Elsewhere."
Left to himself, Arnold Baxter paced the floor of the cottage uneasily. Age was beginning to tell upon him and he was by no means the man he was when introduced to the Rovers years before.
"I wish I was out of it," he murmured to himself. "I'd give a good deal to be on the ocean
