"That is the sixth time they have attempted to loot this warehouse," said the elderly man, drawing a long sigh of relief on finding the intruders gone. "If I didn't keep watch day and night, I shouldn't have a cash's worth of goods left."
"I am glad I was of service to you," answered Gilbert; and then he added curiously, "Can this be Mr. Amos Bartlett?"
"That is my name, lieutenant. But you have the advantage of me." And Amos Bartlett looked at Gilbert carefully.
"We have never met, Mr. Bartlett; but I have often heard of you, and you knew my father and my mother quite well. My name is Gilbert Pennington, and my father was Jefferson Pennington."
"Jefferson Pennington's son! Is it possible?" The elderly gentleman held out his hand. "I am more than delighted to meet you." And he wrung Gilbert's hand warmly. The heartiness of the grasp was one Gilbert never forgot; and, as he looked into Amos Bartlett's eyes, he realized that he had met one who could be trusted and who would be his friend.
"Perhaps you will think it queer, but I have been thinking of you a good deal lately," said the young
