At first Tom thought he would not return to his room, but would pass the night in the barn; still the fear that Benzeor might discover his absence, and be led to suspect its cause, quickly presented itself, and the troubled lad decided to go back to his accustomed place.
Carefully he climbed up on the woodpile, and grasping the sill drew himself up and passed through the open window. He stood for a moment in the room and listened intently. Not a sound could be heard, and even the long drawn-out snores with which Benzeor had been wont to proclaim to the household the fact that he had entered the land of dreams were silent now. He waited several moments, and as the silence was still unbroken he proceeded carefully to remove his wet clothing, and climbed into his high bed.
For the first time then he realized how thoroughly tired he was. The bed had never been more grateful to him, and a heavy sigh of relief escaped his lips. He heard the crowing of the cocks and knew that the morning could not be far away now.
Not even the exciting events of the day, or the treacherous project of Benzeor, or his anxiety for the safety of Little Peter's father, now availed to keep the wearied lad awake.
How long he slept he did not know, but it was broad daylight when he opened his eyes. Some one was pounding upon his door, and with a confused thought that Fenton was besieging the house, or that Washington had begun an attack upon Clinton's forces, he quickly sat up in the bed and listened.
The summons was repeated, and Tom at once realized where he was and what was expected of him. There was no mistaking Benzeor's rude method of proclaiming the presence of the morning, and if he had had any doubts, they would have been quickly dispelled by the words which followed.
"Come, Tom, get up! It's high time we were at work again!"
"I'll be down in a minute," replied Tom as he leaped out of bed and hastily dressed.
While he was engaged in that occupation he tried desperately to collect his thoughts and think of some way out of the troubles which he feared were sure to come that day. Should he tell Benzeor plainly that he could no longer remain under his roof? Ought he to tell him what he had overheard the night before? Had the time come for him to declare himself and to take the open stand which he had for a long time secretly planned to do? Thoughts of Sarah and the toiling, careworn little mother of the household presented themselves before his troubled mind, and the longer he thought, the more perplexed he became.
The problem was not solved when he passed down the stairs and went out of the house to the barrel which stood beneath the corner of the eaves. He took the rude wooden bowl and filled it with water, and desperately tried to arrive at some conclusion as he bathed his flushed face.