Andy had kept Graham in mind ever since he had agreed to pay for burning
up the hay stack. It was about two o'clock when he reached his
destination.

The night he and his school companions had restored the little calf to
its frantic mother, Andy had seen Graham in the window of his room in
the old farmhouse.

Andy now looked up at the window of this room. It was open. A trellis
ran up its side. The house was dark and silent. He scaled the trellis
and rested a hand on the window sill.

"Mr. Graham," he called out softly. Then he repeated the call several
times, gradually raising his voice.

There was a rustle of bed clothes, a droning mumble. Andy called again.

"What is it? who is there?" questioned Graham's tones.

"It's me," said Andy. "Don't be disturbed. Just listen for a minute,
will you?"

"Eh! Is that Andy Wildwood?" exclaimed Graham.

"Yes," answered Andy.

A white-robbed figure came to the window and sat down in a chair there.
Graham rubbed his eyes and stared wonderingly at the strange midnight
visitor clinging to the window sill.