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-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74793 ***

-

-Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

-

-[Illustration: "BOAT AHOY! WAKE UP THERE!"]

-

-

-

-                         WHAT HAPPENED

-

-                             TO TAD

-

-

-                               BY

-

-                         MARY E. ROPES

-

-          _Author of "Karl Jansen's Find," "Caroline Street,"

-                     "Two Brave Boys," etc., etc._

-

-

-

-                             LONDON

-                   THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

-       4 Bouverie Street and 65 St. Paul's Churchyard E.C.

-

-

-

-                            CONTENTS

-

-CHAPTER

-

-     I. VERY HARD LINES

-

-    II. PLANNING REVENGE

-

-   III. GONE

-

-    IV. ANOTHER STEP DOWN

-

-     V. DRIVEN FORTH

-

-    VI. AFLOAT

-

-   VII. JEREMIAH JACKSON

-

-  VIII. FOXY AND PHIL

-

-    IX. A SLAVE INDEED

-

-     X. WEAK YET SO STRONG

-

-    XI. GOOD-BYE TO FOXY

-

-   XII. A FRIEND AND AN ENEMY

-

-  XIII. UNEXPECTED NEWS

-

-   XIV. OLD MEMORIES AND A NEW IDEA

-

-    XV. TURNING THE TABLES

-

-   XVI. TAD HARDENS HIS HEART

-

-  XVII. AGAINST THE PRICKS

-

- XVIII. JEREMIAH TO THE RESCUE

-

-   XIX. FAITHFUL PHIL

-

-    XX. THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER

-

-

-

-                     WHAT HAPPENED TO TAD

-

-CHAPTER I

-

-VERY HARD LINES

-

-"NOW look here, boy! I ain't a-goin' to have no more words about it.

-Your mother must—"

-

-"She ain't my mother, nor I'll never call her so, never! Not if I live

-a hundred year; so don't try to make me, dad."

-

-"Well, I dare say it won't matter such a great deal to your stepmother

-what you call her, so long as you do what you're told, Tad. But please

-to understand, my lad, that if you kick up a rumpus here, and make

-things unpleasant for my wife, you'll hear of it again from me, as sure

-as my name's James Poole."

-

-"But, dad," pursued the boy, "she ain't kind to the children, leastways

-only to her own kid. She beats poor little Bert, and boxes Nell's ears

-for the least thing."

-

-"Tiresome spoilt brats! Serve 'em right!" retorted the man. "But

-anyhow, Tad, it ain't your business. You may as well understand, once

-for all, that I mean she shall be missis here, and manage the home

-her own way. Now go along, will you! I've no more time to waste on

-tale-tellin' and grumblin'."

-

-"It's wicked! It's a shame!" muttered Teddie Poole (or Tadpole as his

-friends had nicknamed him). "This has got to end somehow!"

-

-But his father only growled under his breath, caught up his cap, and

-left the house.

-

-"Yes, it's too bad; everything's against me and them two poor chil'en.

-Dad's number two—she don't care for 'em one little bit, though nothin's

-too good for that great, thumpin', squealin' baby of hers. I'd take

-Bert and Nell right off somewheres, only I couldn't keep 'em and look

-after 'em—poor mites!"

-

-Then with a heavy heart, Tad betook himself to his work. It was not

-much of a place that the boy had got. He was only a grocer's lad at

-four shillings a week, but it was better than nothing, and he did his

-work willingly enough, though he was often footsore and weary with

-running or standing about from morning till night.

-

-There was a great deal of good in poor Tad. When his own mother died,

-he tried to take care of his little brother and sister, and often

-denied himself for their sake.

-

-But when at last James Poole married again, the boy bitterly resented

-his stepmother's harsh ways with her husband's children. And since her

-own baby's birth, things at home had been worse than ever. She grudged

-to Bert and Nell every moment of time that she was obliged to give

-them, and even the very food they ate. She had no sympathy for their

-childish troubles, no tender words or caresses for anyone but her own

-baby boy; while towards Tad, who had from the first made no secret of

-his feelings, she showed in return a dislike which had something almost

-malignant about it.

-

-Several times the lad had complained to his father, but his words had

-produced no effect except still more to enrage his stepmother against

-him. And now Tad had made another appeal, and had once again failed.

-

-All day long, he turned the matter over in his mind as he ran his

-errands or helped his master, Mr. Scales, to make up parcels in the

-shop. Life at home was becoming unbearable—impossible—he told himself.

-What was to be done?

-

-Once the grocer glanced at him with a comical, puzzled smile on his

-fat, good-natured face, but Tad never looked up, and presently his

-master said:

-

-"Before you put them little packets up in brown paper, Teddie, just see

-if they are all right, will you?"

-

-The lad obeyed, but as he began to look through his packets of grocery,

-he flushed hotly.

-

-"I can't think how I could have been so stupid, sir," he said

-penitently; "why, here's sugar and salt got mixed somehow, and the

-bacon rashers has gone and wrapped theirselves up with the yaller

-soap. Oh my! And a pound of taller dips is broke loose all among the

-currants, till they looks just like the hats of them 'ketch-'em-alive'

-fellers. Oh, sir, I'm awful sorry."

-

-The round face of Mr. Scales expanded into a grin of genuine amusement.

-

-"It isn't often you make such mistakes, my boy," he said kindly, "so

-I must forgive you this time. But it seems to me, Tad, that you've

-something on your mind."

-

-"Yes, sir, that's just it," answered Tad.

-

-"Is it anything I can help you in?"

-

-"No, sir, thank you, no one can't help me," replied the boy gloomily.

-

-"Ah well, you think so now, but perhaps things will mend in a day or

-two, and then you'll feel more hopeful."

-

-Tad shook his head, but did not reply. He tried, however, to put his

-troubles out of his mind for the present, and to give his undivided

-attention to his work, so as to make no more mistakes. He did not

-reach home that evening until eight, and his father and stepmother

-were sitting at table. Bert, half undressed, was sobbing in a corner,

-his face to the wall, and little Nell was wailing in her cot upstairs,

-having been put to bed supperless for some childish offence.

-

-"Late again, Tad!" exclaimed Mrs. Poole crossly. "Why can't you be home

-in good time?"

-

-"Mr. Scales kept me a bit later than common," replied Tad; "we was very

-busy."

-

-"I don't believe that's anything but a excuse," retorted the woman.

-"It's a deal more likely as how you've been playin' round with them

-rude street boys that you learns your pretty manners from."

-

-Tad flushed scarlet with rage.

-

-"I came straight home," said he; "I ran all the way to try and get back

-quick. I don't tell lies, and I think you ought to believe me."

-

-"Hark at that, now! Jim, just do hark at that! Ought to, forsooth!

-Ain't there any other thing, if you please, that I ought to do?"

-

-"Yes," shouted Tad, beside himself with passion—"lots of 'em!"

-

-"Shut up, will you?" roared James Poole, bringing his heavy fist down

-upon the table. "Am I never to have a minute's peace at home?"

-

-"'Tain't my fault, dad," said the boy; "I ain't gone and done nothin'."

-

-"No, everybody knows you never do nothin'," sneered his stepmother.

-"You're just one of they poor critturs that's put upon all the time by

-other folks, when you're as innercent as a angel."

-

-Tad got up and pushed his plate away without having touched a mouthful.

-

-"I can't eat, dad," he said to his father, "a bite or a sup would choke

-me."

-

-James Poole made no reply, but his wife laughed and said:

-

-"So much the better! All the more left for us!"

-

-"Bein' Saturday," said Tad, coming round to his father's side, "Mr.

-Scales paid me as usual. Here's the money for you, dad!" and he put

-down four shillings on the table.

-

-"Give it to your mother, Tad, she does the providin'."

-

-But Tad did not obey.

-

-"Give that there money to me, do you hear?" cried Mrs. Poole.

-

-But Tad appeared to take no notice of her.

-

-"Won't you have the tin, father?" he said.

-

-"No, my boy; I know I've took your wages till now, but I find your

-mother—your stepmother—likes to have it herself, and it's all the same

-to me."

-

-Tad did not even glance at Mrs. Poole, but deliberately gathered up the

-coins and pocketed them, saying:

-

-"Then, since you don't want my earnin's, dad, I'll keep 'em, for from

-to-day I'm a-goin' to feed myself."

-

-And not waiting to hear any more, he went upstairs to his little garret

-room, and bolted himself in to brood over his wrongs, and think out

-some way of escape from the influences of a home that had grown so

-hateful.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER II

-

-PLANNING REVENGE

-

-NO sleep did Tad get that night, tired though he was. He was thinking

-so hard that he could not close his eyes. Things had come to a climax

-at last, and something must be done. His stepmother and he hated each

-other cordially, and his efforts to stand up for the children only made

-matters worse both for himself and them.

-

-There were only two courses open to Tad now, and to one of these he

-must commit himself on the following day. Either he must eat humble

-pie, submit his will entirely to his stepmother, and have no choice

-of his own in anything, or he must go quite away, away as far as he

-could—and try to shift for himself.

-

-The thought of remaining at home, to be sneered at, and scolded, and

-abused by Mrs. Poole, was intolerable. The idea of submitting to her,

-and thus acknowledging her authority, he put from him as altogether too

-bitter a pill to be swallowed. There remained, then, only the other

-alternative, and that was to cut adrift from all his belongings, and go

-away.

-

-The thing that troubled him most about this plan, next to leaving

-little Bert and Nell, was that he knew it would be nothing but a

-delight to Mrs. Poole to get rid of him, and he could not bear to give

-her pleasure even by carrying out this plan of his own.

-

-"I'd like oncommon to punish her—punish her well!" said the boy to

-himself, as he tossed uneasily on his bed and stared before him into

-the darkness. "I'd like to make her real unhappy as she's always makin'

-us. Go away I'm bound to, but I must do something beside as 'll make

-her laugh t'other side of her mouth."

-

-For some moments Tad thought intently. At last, with a sudden bound, he

-found himself, in his excitement, standing in the middle of the floor.

-

-"I have it!" he chuckled. "I know what I'm a-goin' to do! That's

-fine!"

-

-And again he laughed to himself—a hard laugh that told a sad tale of its

-own, and showed what a terrible power, even over the soft young heart of

-early youth, have the stony influences of injustice and cruelty.

-

-

-With the first dawn of Sunday morning, Tad rose and dressed himself

-noiselessly. Into an old satchel-basket, that his master had given

-him, he packed his clothes and his one spare pair of boots. His brush

-and comb, and a very few other little matters, were added, and then he

-covered all neatly with a sheet of newspaper, after which he put the

-basket away in the cupboard till he should want it.

-

-Tad knew his stepmother's Sunday habits and customs, and quite hoped

-that he should presently have a chance to carry out the plans for

-his own escape and for the accomplishing of the revenge which he had

-promised himself.

-

-The boy had eaten no supper, and had passed a sleepless night, and he

-began to feel sick and faint by the time his little preparations were

-completed, so that he was glad to lie down again.

-

-About seven o'clock he heard his father's voice calling him, and he

-jumped up and ran out of his room.

-

-"Come and dress the children, Tad," said James Poole; "your stepmother

-have got a headache, and means to stay quiet till near dinner time."

-

-Tad smiled, well pleased. He knew that this was the usual Sunday

-headache, which needed a long sleep and a plentiful dinner for its

-cure, and he had reckoned upon it as a most important part of his

-plans. He dressed Bert and Nell, and then the baby. But this last was

-not an easy thing to do, for the child wriggled and squirmed like an

-eel.

-

-Meanwhile James Poole lighted the fire and got breakfast ready, and

-presently all sat down but Tad.

-

-"Come and have your breakfast, lad," said his father.

-

-"No thank you, dad," replied the boy.

-

-"And why not?"

-

-"You heard what she said to me last night, dad, didn't you? After that

-and what I answered her, I ain't goin' to eat nothin' more of her

-providin'."

-

-And Tad's face burned at the remembrance of the insulting words that

-had brought him to this resolution. His heart was hot within him as

-with a smouldering fire, while he said to himself, "Ah well—my turn's

-comin'."

-

-"Don't be such a fool, Tad," said his father; "here, take your tea, and

-I'll cut you some bread and butter."

-

-Tad was just longing for some food. He had not eaten a mouthful since

-an early tea in Mr. Scales' little back parlour the day before. But

-it was not for nothing that Mrs. Poole had often called him "the most

-obstinatious little beast of a boy" she'd ever seen. And since he had

-made up his mind not to eat again at his father's table, he stuck to

-his resolution, rash and foolish as it was.

-

-"No, dad, no," he said. "I'll make shift to get a bite somewheres or

-other later on, but I ain't goin' to unsay what I said last night—not

-for no one."

-

-"You forget it's Sunday, lad, you can't buy any food," said James

-Poole; "and besides, though you may be able to starve for a day, you

-can't keep on doin' of it, so that sooner or later you're bound to

-break your resolution. Now don't be an obstinate mule, but eat your

-breakfast, or you'll be makin' yourself ill."

-

-"I don't care," said Tad, feeling very wretched in mind and body.

-

-Not to be shaken in his purpose, he set the baby on his father's knee,

-and went to his room.

-

-There, seeing his overcoat hanging up on a nail on the door, he

-recalled to mind that, two days before, his master had given him some

-broken biscuits that had remained behind after the whole ones were

-sold. He had put them into the pocket of his light overcoat, just as he

-was leaving the shop, and had not once thought of them till now. Very

-thankful to be able to appease his ravenous hunger, the lad sat down

-and ate up the biscuits to the very last crumb, washing down the dry,

-stale morsels with a drink of water from his jug.

-

-Then feeling much better for his meal, he went downstairs again,

-cleared the breakfast table, and washed the crockery and spoons,

-afterwards making up the fire and tidying the kitchen, all of this

-being his accustomed Sunday work.

-

-When all was in order, he dressed Bert and Nell for morning Sunday

-School, and took them there, returning home quickly, for he knew he

-should be called upon to mind the baby, and take him out; and this—for

-reasons of his own—he did not mind doing to-day.

-

-An hour later, while James Poole sat reading his paper and smoking

-a pipe in the chimney corner, and while great, fat, lazy Mrs. Poole

-turned in bed and commenced another nap to the accompaniment of some

-terrific snores, Tadpole slipped away with the baby in his arms, and

-the basket strapped to his waist.

-

-He did not care to say good-bye to his father; had not James Poole

-taken his wife's part when she was cruel and unjust? As for Bert and

-Nell, Tad had given each of them a tearful embrace as he left them at

-the school door—a long, loving kiss that would have set them wondering

-and asking questions, had they been just a little older. But as it was,

-they did not notice the difference in their brother's manner.

-

-"Now comes my revenge!" muttered the lad. "My one bit of pleasure in

-all this bad business. Oh, Mrs. P., you shall have a few jolly hours

-to-day, if I can manage it for you."

-

-And with a vindictive light in his eyes, Tad walked away, on and on,

-till he left the town behind him, and came out into a country road

-between hedges, with a meadow on one side, and a copse and plantation

-on the other. Finding at last a gate to the meadow, he climbed over it,

-nearly dropping the child in his scramble. Once over, he went further

-into the field to be out of sight of anyone passing on the road, for he

-had no wish, just as his little plan promised success, to be taken up

-as a trespasser.

-

-For some time he walked about with the child, till at last the little

-fellow fell asleep. Then Tad laid him in a soft, sheltered place under

-a tree, and spread a shawl, kept up by the handle of the basket, to

-keep off the wind and the sun. Then he stood looking at the baby with a

-malicious grin on his lips.

-

-"It's all right so far," said he to himself. "When dinner time comes,

-and no me nor no baby turns up, Mrs. P. will begin to have the lovely

-time I've been wishin' her; and when I think she's had about enough of

-it, I'll carry baby back, and leave him on the doorstep, or somewheres

-handy, and then off I goes on my travels, like a prince in one of them

-fairy tales."

-

-

-

-CHAPTER III

-

-GONE

-

-THE baby awoke after awhile, and cried a little, but Tad was too good

-and experienced a nurse not to have anticipated and arranged for what

-the child would want. He quickly produced from the basket the little

-one's feeding-bottle and some milk, and very soon the baby, quite

-satisfied and happy, was creeping about on the grass and playing with

-some flowers that Tad found for him. And when he wearied of this, the

-boy rocked him to sleep again in his arms.

-

-Then, wearied by his own sleepless night, he lay down beside the

-child for a much-needed nap. His last feeling, before dropping into

-dreamland, being one of grim rejoicing in the recollection that his

-stepmother must already be in a "fine taking,"—as he would have

-expressed it,—about her baby. Tad had made up his mind not to carry

-the child back until dark, "for fear," he said to himself, "of being

-nabbed." But already it was afternoon, and in these autumn days the

-darkness came early.

-

-When Tad awoke from a sound sleep of several hours, the twilight was

-creeping over earth and sky. The quiet rest had much refreshed him, and

-baby too had waked up in a happy mood, and looked so much less like his

-mother than usual, that Tad felt fonder of the poor little fellow than

-ever before, and even kissed his little round face when he picked him

-up.

-

-Carrying the basket on his arm, and the baby over his shoulder, Tad

-walked across the meadow, and came to a stile leading out on to a

-common, where was a gipsy encampment.

-

-A couple of carts were drawn up near the hedge on one side of the

-field, four or five stiff-legged, scraggy horses were grazing hungrily

-on the short, stubbly grass, while not far from a fire, which blazed

-merrily under a black pot, sat a little company of brown-skinned,

-rough-looking men and women, and a few children played about around

-them.

-

-It helped to pass the time, watching the gipsies, so Tad, with the baby

-in his arms, got over the stile, and drawing nearer to the picturesque

-group, stood looking at the people, and hungrily sniffing the savoury

-steam that rose from the cooking-pot.

-

-Presently a young woman rose from among the little company, and came

-towards Tad.

-

-"You look hungry, lad; have a bite with us," she said.

-

-Tad gladly consented, and as the air was growing chill, he joined the

-group of gipsies as they gathered closer round the fire. The young

-woman took the baby from him, and fondled and rocked it while Tad ate

-his supper.

-

-"'Tain't long since she lost her own child," said one of the men to

-Tad, "and this little un ain't onlike him."

-

-When the lad had finished his meal, he thought he had perhaps better

-set off on a little spying expedition, to see if the coast was clear

-for him to take the baby home; for he did not wish to be met by any

-search parties coming to look for him and his little charge.

-

-But to do his spying safely; he ought to leave the child here; and

-turning to the young woman, who was walking to and fro with the baby,

-crooning to it, and putting it to sleep in the usual motherly fashion,

-he said:

-

-"I've got a errand to run, missis, and maybe it'll take me a hour or

-more. Would you have the goodness just to mind the little un for me

-till I can come back for him? I'll be as quick as I can."

-

-"It'll be all right," replied the woman, with an eager light in her

-dark eyes. "I'll see to the baby. You needn't hurry, neither. He's

-goin' off to sleep again, and there's no fear but what he'll be quite

-quiet and content."

-

-Thanking her warmly, away went the Tadpole, carrying his big head high,

-and putting all possible speed into his slender body and thin legs.

-He spent over an hour in dodging about and looking here and there for

-possible pursuers. But he met no search parties, and feeling now more

-sure than ever of being able to carry out his plan to the very end, he

-came leisurely back to the common where he had left the gipsy camp.

-

-It was quite dark now; he could just see the dull glow of the fire's

-dying embers, but nothing else. As he came nearer, however, what were

-his surprise and dismay to find that the place was deserted. Gone

-were the carts, the horses, the people, and worst of all, gone too

-was the baby. It was as if the whole encampment had melted into thin

-air—vanished as utterly as the scenes of a dream.

-

-"They must have crossed the common and come out into a road beyond,"

-thought Tad.

-

-And hoping to overtake them and get back the child, he started at a

-quick run, often stumbling in the darkness, and once or twice falling

-outright. After going some distance, he reached a place where four

-roads met, leading off in various directions. Meanwhile the darkness

-had deepened, no moon or stars lightened the gloom, and Tad began to

-realise the hopelessness of trying to follow the gipsies, who, no

-doubt, had employed their usual cunning to elude pursuit. Utterly

-baffled and at fault in his search, and well-nigh stunned by the

-misfortune that had come upon him, the lad stood still at the cross

-roads, and tried to collect his thoughts.

-

-His intention had been only to give his stepmother a thorough fright,

-by way of paying her out for some of the unkindness he and Bertie and

-Nell had received from her. But now the matter had been taken out of

-his hands, and it looked very much as if, not only Mrs. Poole, but he

-himself and the baby too, were likely to suffer from this revenge that

-he had so carefully planned.

-

-"What a mess I've got into, to be sure!" sighed Tad as he peered round

-with weary eyes, vainly searching the thick darkness. "Whatever shall I

-do?"

-

-His first impulse was to run home, confess the whole story to his

-father, and let him do what was best for the recovery of the baby.

-Tad's conscience told him that this clearly would be the right thing

-to do. But then, if he acted thus, it meant that he must face his

-stepmother's fury, and give up, for the present, at least, his plan of

-leaving home. He felt sure that Mrs. Poole would never believe that he

-had not deliberately and wilfully deserted the baby. He was certain she

-would never give him credit for his intention to bring her child safely

-back when the purposes of his boyish vengeance had been fulfilled.

-

-No—he did not feel he could muster courage enough to return home to

-such a greeting as hers would be, and yielding to the whispers of his

-cowardice, he determined to set out on his travels at once, without

-seeing any of his home people again, and leaving the baby to take its

-chance. Still, since his conscience gave him some sharp pricks as to

-the fate of the child entrusted to his care, he resolved that on the

-following day, he would send by post, from the first town or village

-through which he passed, a letter to his father, telling him just how

-it had happened that the little one was carried off by the gipsies who

-had been encamped on the common outside the town. This resolve arrived

-at, Tad felt a little comforted, and set out to walk to a place some

-six miles distant, where he intended to pass the night.

-

-In thus running away, he was conscious of only two causes of regret.

-One was his separation from Bert and Nell, and the other that he was

-obliged to give up his situation. He had feared to let Mr. Scales know

-he was leaving home, lest he should be stopped. So now he could not

-help thinking of the little ones crying because he did not come home to

-put them to bed as usual; and also of what his kind master would say

-when Monday morning came, but with it no boy to take the shutters down,

-and sweep out the shop, and get everything ready for the business of

-the day.

-

-"Still—all said and done—at least I'm free!" said Tad to himself. "I've

-shook off that horrid stepmother of mine, and it shan't be my fault if

-I ever see her again."

-

-So saying the lad drew himself up, and strode at a great pace along the

-dark road, and tried hard to believe that he had never been so happy in

-all his life.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER IV

-

-ANOTHER STEP DOWN

-

-IT was late that night before Tad reached the village of Pine Hill and

-approached the little, homely, old-fashioned inn which went by the name

-of "The Traveller's Rest," this being the sign of the first inn ever

-built in the place, hundreds of years before.

-

-The house was kept by a very respectable man, called Anthony Robson,

-and Tad had often heard his father speak of Tony Rob (as he called him)

-in high terms as a thoroughly good fellow.

-

-"Please can I have a bit of supper and a corner to lie down in?" asked

-Tad, timidly addressing the landlord, whose burly form was resting in a

-big armchair in the chimney corner.

-

-Apparently he was having a little rest and a last pipe before locking

-up his house for the night and going to bed.

-

-Tony Robson stared at the lad for what seemed to Tad an age before he

-replied. Then as he saw him cringe a little before the questioning gaze

-fixed upon him, he said:

-

-"Ain't you rather a whipper-snapper to be goin' journeyin' by yourself

-at this time of night, and Sunday too? What's your name?"

-

-Tad hesitated, with downcast eyes. If he gave his real name, the

-landlord might prevent his going any further; for he knew James Poole,

-and would guess that the boy was going away from his home without leave.

-

-"No," thought Tad, "I must give another name."

-

-Then as Tony, with his face growing a little stern and suspicious,

-again asked the question, the boy replied with the first name he

-could think of—Hal Barnes—this being the name of one of his former

-school-fellows who was now a farmer's boy living some miles from

-Ponderton.

-

-"And where may you be goin', Hal Barnes?" asked Tony.

-

-The second lie is always easier than the first, and to this question

-Tad replied glibly enough:

-

-"I'm a-goin' to Crest Mount, sir; goin' after a page's place up at

-the squire's. I'm to see him at ten sharp to-morrow mornin', and I

-couldn't do this unless I slept here to-night, for I comes from beyond

-Ponderton. Else I don't care for takin the road Sunday, and wouldn't

-have done it, if I could anyways manage different."

-

-"Dear me!" said Tad to himself. "How nat'ral and easy all that pretty

-little tale sounded!"

-

-The landlord seemed to think so too, for his face lost its stern

-expression, and he said:

-

-"Oh, that's it, is it? But Crest Mount is a goodish way, even from

-here; a matter of five mile or so."

-

-"Oh, I don't mind a walk, sir," said Tad, "and I shall be rested by

-to-morrow."

-

-"Well now," said Tony Robson, "I take it you don't want nothin' very

-expensive in the way of supper and bed, do you?"

-

-"No, sir, I haven't got much money, and I can't afford anything but the

-cheapest."

-

-"It's too late to cook you anything, and the wife's gone to bed, but

-you can have a slice of ham and a cut of the home-made loaf, and a pint

-mug of milk. Will that do for supper?"

-

-"Oh dear yes, sir, thank you," replied Tad.

-

-"And as for a bed, what do you say to a good shakedown of clean hay in

-the loft? It's sweet and wholesome, and you won't have to pay nothin'

-for it, so that'll leave you able to afford a bit of breakfast in the

-mornin'. My dame shall give you a good bowl of oatmeal and milk afore

-you start off for Crest Mount."

-

-"Thank you kindly, sir; I'm much obliged," said Tad.

-

-And glad to get out of answering any more questions, and of being

-forced to draw upon his imagination for his facts, he ate his supper

-and then thankfully went to bed in the loft among the scented hay,

-where, being very weary, he fell asleep at once, only coming back to

-consciousness when the landlord's stable-boy came in for hay for the

-horses of some early travellers.

-

-Tad ate his porridge, paid his reckoning, and walked briskly on,

-avoiding the busy high roads as much as possible, and taking short cuts

-across fields and through copses, lest he should chance to meet some

-one he knew.

-

-Once, about three miles from Crest Mount, he got a lift in a baker's

-cart, so it was only noon when he reached the place. There he bought at

-the post-office, which was also a stationer's shop, a sheet of paper, a

-pencil, an envelope, and a penny stamp, and carrying them to the Green

-where there were some benches, he sat down and wrote to his father,

-giving him an account of how the baby had been stolen, and adding that

-as he did not dare to face his stepmother after what had happened, he

-should not come home any more. He sent his best love to Bert and Nell,

-expressed a hope that the baby might soon be found, and remained James

-Poole's dutiful son, Tad.

-

-When the letter was posted, the boy felt as though he had shaken off a

-weight. Now he need stay no longer in Crest Mount; he would only just

-buy himself a little loaf and a couple of apples for his dinner, and

-then push on towards a small seaport called Upland Bay.

-

-Though Ponderton—the place where he had lived all his life—was not very

-far from the coast, Tad had never yet seen the sea. But he had read

-wonderful things about it in the absurd penny dreadfuls that he had

-got hold of now and again. His head was full of pirates, of marvellous

-adventures on strange islands, of grand discoveries of countless

-treasures in all sorts of unlikely places. Also he had a vague idea

-that, somehow or other, the sea brought luck sure and certain, and that

-if he could only manage to get to the shore, his fortune was as good as

-made.

-

-He walked on all day, only stopping now and again to ask his way, or to

-beg a drink of water or buttermilk at the farms he passed. But it was

-dark by the time he reached the little town of Upland Bay—a picturesque

-place, perched high upon a bold cliff, while, on the inland side, a

-wide reach of breezy downs and cornfields stretched away for miles, as

-it seemed to Tad when he peered through the darkness.

-

-As he trudged up the High Street, looking curiously about him, and

-eagerly inhaling the cool, strong, salt air, he was suddenly brought to

-a stand in front of the police-station. For there, in full glare of a

-lamp, he saw a large written notice posted up. With blanched cheeks and

-starting eyes he read these words:

-

-   "Missing since yesterday morning, Sunday, September 2nd, Edward Poole

- of Ponderton, aged fourteen, having with him a baby boy about eight

- months old. When last seen was carrying the child and a basket through

- the streets of Ponderton. The lad has a big head and thin body, and was

- dressed in a dark grey suit with a cap of the same, and the baby in

- a red flannel dress and coat. A reward will be paid to anyone giving

- information that may lead to the finding of the lad and infant."

-

-Here, at least, in this out-of-the-way place, Tad had thought to feel

-himself safe; but even here the hue and cry was after him, and a reward

-offered for his capture. Assuredly Mrs. Poole had lost no time. The

-telegraph had been set to work, and probably at every little town and

-village within twenty miles of Ponderton, a written notice had been

-posted.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER V

-

-DRIVEN FORTH

-

-LIKE one in a bad dream, Tad stood and stared at the placard. There was

-something very ominous and startling, on coming for the first time into

-this little town, to find his secret, his story there before him.

-

-"Ay there it is!" he muttered. "My name and my clothes and all, so as

-the perlice should be sure to catch me. Catch me? Ay, and so they may

-yet."

-

-At the thought, he shrank into the shadow of the wall.

-

-"Why, here I am, with my big head, and thin body, and I'm wearin' of

-that very grey suit and cap, and a bobby might just step out and nab me

-this minute. Now what can I do," Tad asked himself, "to put the bobbies

-off the scent and make 'em think there's no Edward Poole in the place?"

-

-Musing intently, the lad had moved stealthily away, and turned down

-a narrow, dark street, where he was less likely to be noticed. Once

-round the corner, he quickened his pace until he came to a little

-archway leading into some kind of a court. Here he undid his satchel,

-produced from it an old snuff-coloured suit that he used to wear when

-doing dirty work, and proceeded to exchange his tidy grey clothes for

-the shabby brown, packing the former carefully away in the satchel.

-He turned his cap inside out, and put it on well forward, shading his

-eyes; then turning his frayed collar up round his throat, he emerged

-from the sheltering archway.

-

-The clouds had been gathering for the last hour or two, and now the

-rain began to fall, the lamps were dim and blurred, and the lad's

-courage revived. A big cookshop attracted him by its savoury odours,

-which made the hungry boy's mouth water. While he was gazing in and

-wondering which of all the good things he should choose if he could

-afford a hearty supper, two men came up, and also paused for a look.

-

-Tad, feeling fairly safe in his old brown clothes, did not move

-away at once, and had not indeed taken much notice of them or their

-conversation, until a sentence—a single sentence—of their talk, turned

-him faint and sick with fear, and set him trembling all over.

-

-"I say, Bill, they say there's more partic'lars now about that there

-scoundrel of a boy. You know which I mean—the artful young chap what

-run off with the baby; disappeared with his poor little half-brother."

-

-Not daring to move lest he should be noticed, afraid almost to breathe,

-Tad listened intently.

-

-"No, is there, Fred?" said the man Bill.

-

-"Yes," replied Fred; "it 'pears as if this lad Poole was a wonderful

-jealous, spiteful sort of chap, and they're half afeared he may have

-got rid of the baby somehow, just out of pure wickedness—and then run

-away."

-

-"Wouldn't I like to catch the young gallows-bird!" remarked Bill so

-savagely that Tad would have turned and fled that minute, but that he

-must have given himself away there and then by so doing. "I've got a

-dear little un of my own," resumed Bill in a softened voice, "only

-about eight months old too, and I know just how I'd feel to anyone as

-tried to treat him unjust and unfair."

-

-"Well," remarked the man Fred, "one comfort is that there's little

-chance of the boy gettin' clear away. He's safe to be nabbed sooner or

-later; I only wish I'd the doin' of it."

-

-Then the two men went into the shop, and Tad, with a white, drawn face

-and quaking limbs, moved away from the shop window.

-

-After wandering about among the darkest and poorest streets in the

-town, he found his way at last to the harbour, where several small

-coasters and smacks were about to sail, for the wind was fair, and the

-tide just on the turn.

-

-"Please, sir, don't you want someone to help on board your boat?" asked

-Tad of the skipper of the largest vessel.

-

-The man turned, took his pipe out of his mouth, and eyed Tad from head

-to foot.

-

-The boy winced under the keen scrutiny, and repeated his question.

-

-"Hum!" grunted the skipper. "And what do you know about the sea?"

-

-"Oh, lots!" replied Tad, with vivid recollections of the sea-stories he

-had read.

-

-"Ever been to sea before?"

-

-"No, but—"

-

-"Is your father a sailor?"

-

-"No, but—"

-

-"But what?" questioned the man roughly.

-

-"I've read lots about it, and always thought I'd like it of all things."

-

-The skipper gave a little short laugh, which emboldened Tad to remark:

-

-"What I'd like best to be, is a pirate."

-

-"A what?" growled the man.

-

-"A pirate, you know, sir; I've read all about them, and they has the

-jolliest kind of a life, takin' treasure ships and hidin' away the

-gold and di'monds on desert islands where there's no end of wonderful

-things, and then I've—"

-

-"Shut up!" roared the skipper. "Of all the precious young fools I ever

-see, you're the biggest—far away. If them's the sort of yarns you spin,

-you'd never do no good aboard of the 'Mariar-Ann.' So hold your noise

-and be off with you. I'll be bound you're a runaway from home, and your

-mother 'll be comin' along lookin' for you presently."

-

-"I haven't got a mother, but it's true I want to get away out of this.

-I'll do anything, everything you tell me if you'll take me to sea with

-you."

-

-"Now look here, youngster," said the man, "I ain't goin' to get myself

-into a mess, not for nobody. Tell the truth—are you in hidin'?"

-

-"Yes," said poor Tad.

-

-"What have you been up to?"

-

-"It's too long a story to tell here," replied the boy, peering about

-him distrustfully into the darkness. "Take me on board and I'll tell

-you all."

-

-"Take you aboard and run the risk of bein' took up myself, for helpin'

-you away? Not if I know it! And now I think of it—" he added half to

-himself—"wasn't there some sort of notice up in the town about a lad

-wanted by the police? Here, Tim," he called to a man who was at work on

-the vessel. "What did you tell me you see wrote up at the station?" And

-the skipper turned his head to hear his mate's reply.

-

-"There—you see, you young scamp," said the skipper, when—his suspicions

-confirmed—he turned once more to address Tad.

-

-But to his surprise, he found himself talking into empty space. The

-culprit at the bar had not waited for the verdict. Tad was gone.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VI

-

-AFLOAT

-

-WHEN the wind blew the clouds away about midnight, and the moon came

-out, the cold white light falling upon a lonely high road revealed a

-wretched figure toiling on with weary, dragging steps, his garments

-heavy with rain.

-

-This miserable tramp was Tad. He still carried his satchel, but that

-too was drenched, and when he stopped and groped in it for some food

-to stay the pangs of hunger, he pulled out only a squashy mess of

-pulp which had once called itself a penny roll, but which now bore no

-resemblance whatever—not even a family likeness—to that dainty.

-

-With a sigh and a glance of disgust, Tad threw the sop into the ditch

-at the side of the road, and plodded on, splashing recklessly through

-the deep mud and puddles. The road, bounded on the right by cornfields,

-had run along the cliff keeping close to the coastline. But now the way

-cut straight across the shoulder of a promontory, and began to dip to a

-gorge on the further side, between mighty jagged walls where some long

-ago convulsion of nature had broken the cliff line of the shore.

-

-This gully widened towards the beach, ending there, above high-water

-mark, in soft, deep, white sand which gleamed like silver in the

-moonlight.

-

-To the heavy sleepful eyes of the traveller, the spot looked inviting

-enough. Sheltered from the wind, dry under foot, and as lonely and

-deserted as ever a fugitive and a vagabond could desire, this rocky,

-sand-carpeted nook seemed a very haven of refuge to poor Tad. Slowly

-and cautiously picking his way among the irregularities of the gorge,

-the forlorn lad clambered down, and presently found himself in the

-sandy corner which promised so welcome a refuge.

-

-Here, by the white light of the moon, he crawled in and out among the

-rocks till he found a deep bed of dry sand with large boulders all

-round it, so that it was quite a sheltered nest, shutting out the keen

-autumn wind, and screening him too from observation, had there been

-anyone to see.

-

-Here, then, nestling down among the rocks, and burrowing into the sand

-like a rabbit, poor Tad, lulled by the quiet, monotonous wash of the

-waves on the shingle lower down, fell sound asleep—so sound that he

-heard nothing, saw nothing. Till in broad daylight, he awoke suddenly

-with the feeling of something cold against his cheek. And starting up,

-he found a little rough cur gazing inquisitively into his face, with

-its comical head on one side. It was the little, chill, black nose of

-the animal rubbing against his cheek that had waked him.

-

-Tad sprang to his feet alarmed. The sun was high in the heavens; the

-hour could not be far from noon. He had almost slept the clock round.

-Only half awake still, he stared about him with frightened eyes.

-Where there was a dog there might also be people—people who might

-have heard his story, and would perhaps recognise him for the hunted

-young scapegrace who was supposed to have done away with his little

-half-brother.

-

-Hither and thither, with panic-stricken gaze, peered poor Tad, but no

-human form was in sight. He walked a few steps further to get a wider

-view of the shore. Rounding a corner of rock, he spied, in the cleft

-of a boulder, a gleam of colour. As he came nearer, he saw that the

-gleam of colour was the corner of a red bandanna kerchief tied round

-something, in the form of a bundle. But as the boy—cramped and stiff

-with lying for twelve hours in damp things—stooped painfully to examine

-the bundle, the dog leaped past him, and lay down by the rock with his

-forepaws on the knot of the kerchief. Made bold by hunger, and feeling

-sure the bundle contained food, Tad laid his hand upon it and tried

-to lift it, but as he did so, the dog growled and showed his teeth.

-Evidently the animal had been sent to guard the bundle, and the owner

-of both would be back presently.

-

-By this time the boy was perfectly ravenous with hunger, and ready to

-do anything for a meal. He did not, however, wish to run the risk of

-being bitten, and so he at first tried to divert the dog's attention

-by throwing a stick towards the water for him to fetch. But the sharp

-little cur saw through his design, and would not budge an inch.

-

-Then Tad took up an ocean cat-o'-nine-tails of tough, leathery seaweed,

-and tried to frighten the poor little beast away, but it only whined,

-and crouched still closer to the rock.

-

-Made quite desperate by the little animal's faithful resistance, Tad

-at last dragged an old shirt out of his satchel, threw the clinging

-folds over the dog's head and body, tied the sleeves together round

-the little creature, and rolled it, struggling and snapping vainly,

-into a long, bolster-like bundle. This he laid down on the sand, with

-two large stones on the outer folds to keep the dog from extricating

-itself. Then he snatched up the red kerchief and unknotted it. Oh joy!

-What a delightful dinner met the glad eyes of the famished lad. Several

-thick slices of bread and butter, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, part of

-the heel of a Dutch cheese, and a solid-looking, brown-crusted, seed

-loaf, together with a tin flask of cold coffee.

-

-Tad's first impulse was to sit right down, then and there, and gorge

-himself with the food. But fear for his safety mastered even the

-impulse of his hunger, and he remembered that the owner of the dog and

-the red bundle would certainly be returning soon.

-

-Looking about him, uncertain what to do for the best, the lad espied a

-little boat, moored to a rock in shallow water, not very far from the

-place where he was standing. And the idea occurred to him that he might

-get to the boat by wading, row off to a little rocky islet about half a

-mile out to sea, and—

-

-"Then," said he to himself, "I shall be safe, and I'll have time to

-think what to do next."

-

-Another swift look round to see that no one was coming yet—then the boy

-ran down the beach, waded into the water, scrambled into a boat, and at

-once cast off the loop of string which held her to a jutting point of

-the rock.

-

-The tide had turned, and away slipped the boat on a receding wave, into

-deeper water. For a few minutes Tad, in his great hunger, was so busy

-discussing the contents of the red bundle, that he was conscious of

-nothing else. But, as the first sharp pangs of famine were assuaged, he

-glanced about him, and seeing that the tide and current were carrying

-him away from the island, he threw down the remnants of his stolen

-meal, so as to take up the oars, which he had not thought of before.

-

-What were the boy's feelings when he found that there were no oars in

-the boat at all; they must have been left on shore, together with the

-sail and the boat-hook.

-

-With an exclamation of fear and horror, Tad turned his eyes

-despairingly towards the beach, hoping to see someone who would come in

-another boat to his rescue, for his little craft, borne swiftly on the

-ebb of the tide, was drifting steadily out to sea. But no—not a soul

-was in sight anywhere on land, and not a fishing-smack upon the water,

-far as the eye could reach.

-

-Overwhelmed with despair at this new misfortune that had befallen

-him, and perceiving dimly that this, like the others, was clearly the

-outcome of his own wrong-doings, the poor lad in despair threw himself

-down in the bottom of his drifting boat, sobbing and crying till he

-fell asleep again from exhaustion; fell asleep rocked by the swaying

-and heaving of the waters; hushed into a deep and dreamless rest by

-their wash and whisper.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VII

-

-JEREMIAH JACKSON

-

-"BOAT ahoy! Wake up there! Or is it dead you are?"

-

-With these words ringing in his ears, Tad sprang to his feet, nearly

-upsetting the little boat. The sun had gone down, the soft twilight was

-stealing over sea and sky, and close to him was a vessel, a good-sized

-schooner, laden with timber; even her decks were piled with it.

-

-The skipper, a fat, red-headed, freckled man, with kind, blue eyes and

-a big voice, was looking over the ship's side at the poor solitary

-waif, in the oarless, sail-less boat, while another man threw a rope to

-Tad and called to him to catch hold. The boy had just sense enough to

-obey, and the sailor drew the boat close, and in a minute or two Tad

-was safe on the deck of the schooner.

-

-"Where did you come from, shrimp?" asked the fellow who had thrown the

-rope.

-

-"And how do you come to be making a voyage all by yourself?" cried a

-second sailor.

-

-"What's up with your parents, I'd like to know," remarked a third,

-"that they lot you go to sea in a cockleshell?"

-

-"Shut up, boys, and hold your noise, all of you!" said the red-haired

-man in a voice like a speaking-trumpet. "Time enough for all that later

-on. Can't you see, you three blind bats, that the lad's half dead with

-cold and hunger and fear? Here, Frank," he called to a tall boy who

-appeared just then from the cuddy with a big metal teapot in his hand,

-"take the youngster to your place, and let him have a wash and a warm,

-and then give him some tea and cold corned beef, and afterwards bring

-him below to me."

-

-So, an hour later, poor Tad, clean and comfortable, and with his

-appetite satisfied, was ushered into the trim cabin, where the skipper

-sat finishing his own meal.

-

-"Now then, my young voyager," said he, as Tad stood silently before

-him, "give an account of yourself! How did you happen to be floatin'

-round in the sea, as I found you?"

-

-"Afore I say anything, sir," replied Tad, "what do you mean to do with

-me?"

-

-"We're bound for Granville with Norwegian pine," said the skipper; "and

-as I can't alter my course for you, you've got to go along of me."

-

-"And please, sir, where may Granville be? Is it in Wales or maybe

-Scotland?"

-

-"No, my lad, it's in France," rejoined the man.

-

-"France!" exclaimed Tad, aghast. "But I don't want to go to France."

-

-"Then I don't see but what we must stop the ship, and put you aboard

-your small boat—as we're towin' at this present moment—and let you

-drift; then, as sure as my name's Jeremiah Jackson, you'll go to the

-bottom of the sea the first breeze that comes. If you like that better

-than France, I'll give the orders at once." And the big skipper laughed.

-

-"Well, sir," said Tad, after a minute's reflection, "maybe, arter all,

-it won't be such a bad thing for me to go to France, considerin'—"

-

-"Considerin' what, boy? Now then, make a clean breast of it and tell

-the truth."

-

-"Considerin' as how the bobbies is arter me," replied Tad reluctantly.

-

-The captain gave a low whistle, and a quick glance at the lad's

-downcast face, then he said:

-

-"What are they after you for? What have you been and done?"

-

-"Well sir—to tell the truth, there's several things I done, but the

-perlice ain't arter me for them. It's for the things I ain't done that

-they're arter me."

-

-"It seems to me you must be clean off your head, child, to tell me such

-nonsense," remarked the skipper. "Now then, try and give me something I

-can believe."

-

-So plucking up courage, and seeing real kindness in the fat skipper's

-face, Tad told his story, beginning with the home miseries and his

-longing to revenge himself on his stepmother; then his making off

-with his little half-brother, and the disappearance of the child with

-the gipsies; his subsequent adventures and escapes, his thefts and

-dodges and lies, and the misfortune that had followed him all the way

-through—all this Tad told without keeping back anything.

-

-Jeremiah Jackson listened attentively, only interrupting the boy's

-narrative now and again to ask a question, if Tad's hesitating speech

-did not succeed in making his meaning clear.

-

-But when the lad paused at last, adding only, "That's all, sir," the

-skipper said:

-

-"So you feel as if you'd been unlucky, do you?"

-

-"Yes, sir," rejoined Tad; "everything's gone agen me from the first; I

-can't think why."

-

-"Shall I tell you?" asked Jeremiah, a kind, pitying look coming into

-his blue eyes, and making his big broad face almost beautiful; "it is

-hard for thee to kick against the pricks." Then, seeing that Tad did

-not understand, he added, "When we set out on a wrong and dangerous

-road, lad, we can scarce wonder—it seems to me—if we meets with ill

-luck. S'posin' now, that instead of gettin' out my chart and studyin'

-my course, careful and sure, I just let the ship drive afore the wind,

-whose fault would it be, think you, Teddie Poole, if we run slap up

-agen a rock and come to be a wreck? But judgin' from what you've been

-tellin' me, that's very like what you done."

-

-Tad was silent. Deep down in his heart, where his conscience was

-awakening, he felt the truth of what the skipper said.

-

-Jeremiah Jackson went on:

-

-"I know it's been very hard for you, my poor boy. I don't wonder you

-wanted to run away from home, nor I don't blame you for doin' it—things

-bein' as they was. But the trick you played on your stepmother was a

-mean thing, and it's out of this wrong-doin' that all the rest of the

-bad things has come, makin' of you a thief and a vagabond."

-

-"Yes, sir, that's so, but what am I to do now?"

-

-"Well," said the skipper, "maybe you won't relish what I'm goin' to

-say, but if I was you I'd ask this here old Jeremiah Jackson to carry

-me back to England when he sails from Granville in a week's time for

-Southampton. And then, lad, I'd make the best of my way home again—even

-if I had to tramp it; and I'd tell the bobbies and my dad too the whole

-truth, and take brave and patient anything as comes after, whether it

-be the lock-up or a good hidin'. No, Teddie Poole, don't look at me so!

-That would be the straight, right, manly thing to do, and what's more,

-it would be the Christian thing too."

-

-Tad hung his head. Jeremiah Jackson had asked a hard thing, a very

-hard thing. And yet the good man's words had touched him; he felt the

-skipper was right. But he shrank from all that he felt sure awaited him

-at home. The thought of his stepmother's relentless wrath daunted him.

-He could almost see her frowning, hateful face, and hear his father's

-stern voice and hard words. All that he must do and suffer if he took

-the course suggested to him, came to his mind now, and overwhelmed him

-with dread.

-

-"Think it out, lad, to-night," said Jeremiah, "and ask the good Lord

-Who ain't far—so the Scripture says—from anyone of us, to help you to

-do the right, and leave the rest with Him."

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VIII

-

-FOXY AND PHIL

-

-THE "Stormy Petrel," as Jeremiah Jackson's vessel was called, remained

-nearly a week at Granville, discharging her cargo, and loading again

-with various goods for Southampton.

-

-During these days Tad was in a miserably uncertain state of mind. At

-one time he would almost resolve to take the good skipper's advice,

-and go home to face bravely anything that might happen. At another, he

-shrank from the thought of returning, and felt as though he could far

-more easily brave any amount of unknown dangers, than go back to the

-home troubles that he knew so well.

-

-On the afternoon of the day before the schooner was to sail, Tad was

-standing about on the wharf feeling very unhappy, and very uncertain

-as to what course to take. While he wandered listlessly round, he met

-a boy about twelve years of age, with a monkey in his arms. A small

-organ was strapped across the lad's shoulders, and when he turned the

-handle of the instrument, it ground out a horrible parody of a popular

-French tune, and the monkey, leaping from its bearer's arms, danced a

-queer kind of hornpipe on the top of the organ, tossing its little red

-cap in the air, and pretending to be in the best of good spirits. What

-a feeble pretence this was, however, even Tad could see, for the poor

-little beast had a face almost as pinched and woebegone as that of the

-organ boy, and that was saying a great deal.

-

-As it happened, Tad was still mooning over the second half of his

-dinner, so much absorbed was he in perplexing thought. All on board

-the schooner had been too busy that day to have a proper dinner set

-out, and Tad had received his rations of bread and salt pork, and a

-substantial baked apple dumpling, and had been told to go on shore and

-eat it there. The bread and meat had been eaten, and the first hunger

-being appeased, Tad had once more fallen into a brown study, out of

-which he was roused only when the poor little organ lad and his monkey

-had come quite near, and were casting longing glances upon the dumpling

-which Tad held—only half folded in paper—in his hand.

-

-The mute language of want is one which the eyes speak very plainly. At

-least this language is plain enough to those who have suffered from

-hunger, and Tad knew only too well what it was to be hungry. So when

-he saw the longing look in the eyes both of boy and beast, he promptly

-handed over his dumpling, and for a while forgot his own troubles in

-the delight with which his bounty was received.

-

-The organ boy broke off a generous piece first for his little charge,

-then sitting down in a quiet corner of the wharf, he began to eat his

-own share, gratefully smiling and nodding his thanks to Tad, but not

-saying a word.

-

-"The little chap's a Frenchman, for sure," said Tad to himself, "and

-can't speak no English, and he sees plain enough as how I ain't a

-countryman of his. That's why he don't try to talk to me. Still he may

-have learned a few words of English while he carried his organ round;

-I'll try him and see if he understands me."

-

-"Look here," said Tad, laying a hand on the little lad's shoulder to

-arrest his attention, "are you a French boy, or what?"

-

-The child shook his head, but whether this meant that he was not a

-French boy or that he did not understand what was being said to him,

-Tad could not tell.

-

-"I do wish I knowed if you can understand what I says to you," said

-Tad; "I'd like to have a talk with you if you do but understand and

-speak a little bit of English. Now, what's your name?"

-

-The organ boy looked full in Tad's face, then glanced round timidly,

-and said:

-

-"Hush, not so loud! I'm English, like you; my name's Phil Bates, but

-I've a French master, and he's forbidden me to speak to any of my own

-people, and if he catches me at it, don't he beat me just!"

-

-His tone and manner were quiet and restrained, and his language more

-refined than might have been expected in a boy of his appearance and

-employment.

-

-"And how do you come to be with a French master?" inquired Tad.

-

-"Oh, my aunt, (her I lived with after father and mother died) she sort

-of sold me to old Foxy. She was poor and had some children of her own,

-and was glad to be rid of me, and so Foxy (Renard is his name) gave a

-half sov for me, and he's got me, worse luck!"

-

-"Was you sold here in France?" asked Tad.

-

-"No, Foxy went over to England for something or other. We was livin'

-not far from Southampton, and he happened to see me standin' at

-auntie's cottage door, and her close by. And says he to her in that

-wonderful lingo of his, 'Mine good womans, is dis so pretty boy your

-own cheaild?'

-

-"And says auntie, 'No, he ain't, he's only a nevvy.'"

-

-"So then Foxy says, 'It is for such boy dat I am looking, good madame;

-dis one will be quaite suit for my work, and I will give truly gold for

-him, one piece of ten shilling for the cheaild, and wat you call half

-crown for his clothes—all dat he have. So den mine good womans, is dis

-one bargain?'

-

-"Them was his very words!"

-

-"Why, he reg'lar bought you!" cried Tad.

-

-"Yes, in course he did. Well—my aunt she says 'No' when he asks her

-if that was a bargain, and she cried a bit and said somethin' about

-her poor dead sister's child, and cried again and said 'Yes' to Foxy,

-and—well—here I am!"

-

-And the boy stuffed the last remnant of the apple dumpling into his

-mouth, and getting up, slung the organ over his shoulder, and took the

-monkey in his arms again. He was just moving away, when a harsh, hoarse

-voice behind Tad said angrily:

-

-"And wat is dis dat I hear? Can it be dat de boy Anglais wat am in

-my care to learn de French language have once again disobey, and is

-speaking his mudder tongue? Ah, mine cheaild, you did not tink dat over

-dere, hiding and watching 'mong de rubbidge on de water side, was your

-master! But now who am you?" went on Renard, addressing himself to Tad,

-"and how come you to dis country?"

-

-"I came on that schooner," replied the lad, pointing towards the

-"Stormy Petrel."

-

-"You look not like a sailor," remarked Renard, eyeing the boy

-suspiciously.

-

-"I ain't one neither," said Tad.

-

-"Den widout doubt you shall return to Angleterre in dis same boat?"

-suggested the man.

-

-"I don't know that I shall," rejoined Tad, his face clouding over again.

-

-"La France is a lov'ly country, mon cher," remarked Renard. "It shall

-be better for you to stay here; go not back across de sea."

-

-"But I ain't got nothin' to do here," said Tad. "No country's lovely

-when a chap's starvin'."

-

-"But have you not over de sea in Angleterre some peoples dat waits for

-you?"

-

-"No," replied Tad.

-

-"Good! Den hark at me!" said Foxy, laying one brown, claw-like hand on

-Tad's shoulder, and fixing his yellow-green eyes on the boy's face.

-"Let sail away dat ship, and you take service wid me. Philipe here, and

-his so lov'ly monkey shall your camarades be, and we weel go togedder

-about, and all so gay happy be—eh?"

-

-Tad did not answer. Here again was an offer which he did not find it

-easy either to accept or refuse. Instinctively, he shrank from this

-cat-eyed man, with his repulsive face and his strange lingo. And yet,

-would he be worse off with him than with his home people? For all Tad's

-lessons—hard though they had been—had not yet taught him that to choose

-the right—however unpromising—was the only safe way. He was still on

-the lookout for the easiest and pleasantest path through life, and had

-no thought of seeking first the kingdom of heaven and the righteousness

-of God.

-

-Renard waited quietly for a minute or two, furtively watching the

-boy's face. Tad glanced round and saw him, and recoiled from him as

-from some poisonous reptile. Indeed his fear of the man was so real

-that he hesitated to say the words which would pledge him to this new

-and strange service. Perhaps after all he would have decided to return

-with Jeremiah Jackson to England, had not Phil, the organ boy, gazed

-wistfully up into Tad's eyes, whispering "Do—do join us! I'm that

-lonely and desp'rate as I don't know how to bear myself."

-

-"You really want me?" said Tad, to whom—after all his many

-experiences—the thought of being wanted by some one was very sweet.

-

-"I do, dreffully," replied the child.

-

-"That settles it, then!" said Tad. "All right, mister," he added,

-turning to Renard, "I don't mind working for you, only what about

-wages?"

-

-"Ah, mine good friend, we shall talk of dat leetle affairs later. And

-for de present, will you not fetch your tings from de boat?" suggested

-Foxy with a leer that showed a line of black, ragged stumps of teeth.

-

-"I've got nothin' save a very few clothes," answered Tad, "but I'll

-bring 'em at once, and say good-bye to Jeremiah Jackson at the same

-time."

-

-"Jeremie Jacqueson?" repeated Foxy. "Say you dat he is de man wat

-sailed you to la France?"

-

-"Yes; what's the matter?" inquired Tad.

-

-"De matter is dat you shall not make your adieu to Jeremie," replied

-Foxy with a threatening look. "He is enemy of me, and he weel hold you

-back and not suffer you to come wid me."

-

-"Nonsense, mister," said Tad, "he's got no right to interfere; I can do

-as I please."

-

-Foxy shook his head.

-

-"Fetch dose tings of your, but say not one leetle word to Jeremie of

-old Renard; so den all will go well, and when de ship sail, you shall

-be far from here, and Jeremie, my enemy, finds you not."

-

-Once more Tad hesitated. This secrecy did not please him; and besides,

-it seemed ungrateful to leave the good skipper without a word of

-acknowledgment and farewell.

-

-The wily Frenchman saw the hesitation, and determined to clinch the

-matter once for all.

-

-"Ma foi, mine boy!" said he roughly. "If it like you not to do wat I

-tell you, go—go to your Jeremie, and come not back. I shall find oders

-dat weel be enchante to work for good, kind, old Renard," and the man

-took little Phil by the arm and began to walk away.

-

-"Stop, stop, mister!" cried Tad. "Wait for me. I'll just run on board

-for my things, and I'll be with you in a minute. I promise I won't tell

-the skipper nothin', as you say he ain't no friend of yours."

-

-Tad kept his word, and in three minutes he had joined the Frenchman

-and little Phil, and thereby started on a new and perilous road in his

-journey of life.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER IX

-

-A SLAVE INDEED

-

-OLD Renard, as Tad soon found, was a Jack-of-all-trades. He could

-turn his hand to most things, though he did no sort of work well or

-thoroughly. But he was a bit of a tinker, a basket-maker, and mender;

-he could do a bit of rough cobbling for any villager who wanted a pair

-of boots mended; he could put a passable patch in a pair of trousers;

-and he could even play the dentist after a fashion of his own, and take

-out teeth, often getting a sound tooth by mistake, and very cheerfully

-giving any amount of pain for his fee.

-

-Then, too, he was a bit of a pedlar, and generally carried about with

-him a box of cheap jewellery, relics, and knick-knacks, on which, by

-aid of his glib tongue, he made a fair profit. He also sold patent

-pills and ointments and quack remedies to the ignorant folk, besides

-earning many a dishonest penny by the telling of their fortunes. But it

-was by the lads in his employ that he made the most regular part of his

-income, and Tad soon found that his new work was by no means a bed of

-roses, and that old Foxy was quite as fully bent upon making him serve

-with rigour, as were the old Egyptian task-masters with their Israelite

-bondsmen.

-

-Every morning, early, Phil and Tad were sent out into the streets of

-any town in which they happened to be. Phil had his little organ and

-monkey Jacko, and Tad was obliged to carry a much larger and noisier

-instrument, which sent forth a hoarse mingling of howl and screech when

-he turned the stiff handle, eliciting much bad language from people

-condemned to listen to it.

-

-Every day the lads were compelled to give their master a certain sum.

-Sometimes they earned a little more, sometimes less, but not a sou did

-he ever abate of the sum to be paid to him; and if the required amount

-were not forthcoming every night on their return, the boys met with

-punishment more or less severe, according to the state of intoxication

-reached at the time by their master. For Renard was a heavy drinker,

-though seldom helplessly drunk. His was a head accustomed to alcohol,

-and he could take a great deal without other results than to make him

-quarrelsome and violent. But in the later stages of his drinking bouts,

-he became utterly unreasonable and a perfect savage, beating the lads

-unmercifully, and using horrible language.

-

-It was only when he was tired out, exhausted with his own violence,

-that he fell into a deep sleep, and then the two English boys dared

-to talk freely after they lay down to rest, exchanging confidences,

-telling their respective stories, and giving each other the sympathy

-which was now their only comfort.

-

-To ensure that his little slaves did not run away from him, Renard

-had taken from them everything that belonged to them save the poor

-clothes they wore. He had sold their little possessions and pocketed

-the proceeds; and now he chuckled with an evil triumph as they left

-him in the morning, for he well knew that even if they tried to escape

-from the bondage in which he held them, they could not get far. Without

-money, or articles which they could turn into money, and also without

-friends—what could they do in a foreign land? Even the so-called

-musical instruments they carried were worthless, and no pawnbroker in

-his senses would have advanced ten centimes upon them.

-

-So passed the days and weeks, and autumn merged into winter. Frost and

-sleet and bitter winds made the lives of the poor boys yet harder to

-bear.

-

-Scantily fed, yet more scantily clothed, housed like dogs, their

-suffering was great, while old Foxy appeared to take a malicious

-pleasure in their misery, and taunted them cruelly when he saw them

-especially downhearted and sad.

-

-At first Tad bore all these new troubles with a kind of dogged,

-stubborn patience. Even such a life as this, he told himself, was

-better than that he had led at home, and as he had made up his mind to

-rough it, rough it he would.

-

-But after a while the growing brutality of Renard roused the lad's

-hatred and instinct of retaliation, and the man himself would have

-shrunk in startled horror, had he guessed what dark and murderous

-thoughts began to fill the brain of this poor, ill-used drudge of his.

-

-But it never occurred to old Foxy that there might be danger to

-himself resulting from his treatment of the lads if he drove them to

-desperation. He had no notion of their doing anything worse than trying

-to run away, or possibly robbing him of food or a few sous; and if they

-did either of these things, he thought he knew how to deal with them.

-

-Time went on, and now Christmas was close at hand: at least it wanted

-only ten days to the twenty-fifth, a festive season for many, but not

-for poor Phil and Tad. Poor gentle little Phil was sadder than ever

-now, for the great cold had killed Jacko, and the boy, who had dearly

-loved his little companion, grieved sorely over his loss, and clung the

-more closely to Tad as his only friend and sole comforter.

-

-One day Renard and the lads were tramping along a high road, on their

-way to a place some miles away. Stopping to rest awhile and eat their

-poor dinner, they were joined by two men who were evidently known to

-Renard.

-

-The newcomers, after a little talk, drew old Foxy away from the

-spot where the boys were seated munching their crusts and drinking

-cold barley coffee out of a bottle. Here the men were quite out of

-earshot, and a whispered conversation commenced, which seemed, from

-the mysterious faces and gestures of the speakers, to be of the utmost

-interest and importance.

-

-Presently it appeared that the two men were to accompany Renard and his

-boys on their journey, for when dinner was over, all rose and walked

-together towards the town, which was reached about nightfall.

-

-The lads slept on straw in a shed in the suburbs that night, and would

-have been thankful to rest undisturbed till morning, for they were very

-weary. But they were roused about midnight by their master's hissing

-whisper:

-

-"Rise and come wid me, bote of you!"

-

-Tad sat up staring straight before him, only half awake, while Phil

-rubbed his heavy eyes and groaned.

-

-"Why," said Tad, "surely it's the middle of the night, master; what do

-you want with us? We are both tired and need to sleep."

-

-"Hold dat tongue of yours, and get you up," replied Foxy sharply; "dat

-is all you have to do. And be queek if you would not haf the steek."

-

-So very weary, and full of fear and foreboding, the boys rose and

-followed Foxy out into the road, where, much to their surprise, a light

-spring cart and good horse were awaiting them, the two strange men

-sitting in front.

-

-"Now then, Renard," said Paul, the one who held the reins, "in with the

-children and yourself! The luggage is in already, you say? Good! Now

-are you ready?"

-

-"They are all in, Paul," said Jean, his companion; "drive on, my

-friend; anyway it will be one o'clock before we get there."

-

-Paul drew the whip across the horse's flanks, the animal sprang

-forward, fell into a spanking trot, and soon left the little town far

-behind.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER X

-

-WEAK YET SO STRONG

-

-THE lads dared not exchange even so much as a whisper during their

-drive, for old Foxy was close beside them in the back of the cart.

-But both Phil and Tad felt that they had cause for dread now if never

-before. Anything so unusual as a midnight drive, in the company, too,

-of strangers, had never happened before, and the poor boys, as they

-thought over everything, realised that a crisis of some sort was at

-hand.

-

-Of the two, Tad was the more miserable. With him, hitherto, temptation

-had invariably meant yielding, had brought fresh sin and new troubles.

-And now he feared lest once more he should fall and sink yet deeper in

-the mire.

-

-Since Phil and he had been constant companions, Tad's conscience had

-once more awakened. He felt that Phil was a far better boy than he

-was himself, for in all the trials, the troubles, the miseries that

-had befallen this poor orphan child, he had not lost his honesty, his

-truthfulness, nor his simple faith in God.

-

-Tad was conscious of this, and aware, too, for the first time for

-years, of a longing now and again to be a better lad, more like

-pure-hearted, gentle little Phil; for there was growing up in his heart

-for this friend and fellow-sufferer of his, a great love such as he had

-not hitherto thought he could feel for anyone.

-

-The truest of all books tells us that even a child is known by his

-doings, whether they be pure and whether they be right; and Tad, so

-strong in his self-will, and so weak in temptation, had taken knowledge

-of his little friend, and had come to know that in this frail boy there

-was a certain moral strength wanting in himself.

-

-And now an occasional glance at Phil's small, pale face as the white

-moonlight fell upon it set Tad wondering why this child was so

-different from himself, and whether the events of this night would

-bring to them both serious consequences, or leave them as they found

-them.

-

-He was still deep in thought when the cart stopped. For some time it

-had been driven across what looked like a common, a wide open space,

-with no buildings of any sort upon it; but now the halt was made at a

-little gate, almost hidden by the bushy growth of underwood and young

-trees forming a copse, which began where the common ended, and which,

-though bare and leafless now, cast a deep shadow over the road.

-

-In silence the driver and his companion got down from the front seat,

-and Renard and the boys from the back. Tad noticed that the man Paul

-took from under the seat a small canvas bag, in which some things

-rattled, and also a little parcel which he slipped into his coat

-pocket. The boys looked at each other, a vague horror and fear dawning

-in their faces—a foreboding of danger.

-

-Summoning up his sinking courage, Tad touched Renard on the arm, and

-said in a whisper:

-

-"Master, where may this path lead, and what are we goin' to do?"

-

-Renard turned upon him sharply.

-

-"Dat's not you beezness," he replied. "You keep wid me and speak not."

-And taking the boys by the arm, one on each side, he strode on behind

-the driver and his mate, their feet making no sound on the moss-grown

-pathways along the deep shadows of which Paul now and again turned the

-light of a lantern, so that the little party could see where they were

-going.

-

-Presently the copse ended in another gateway which led into a garden,

-and here, with flower-beds and ornamental trees all round it, in a

-situation which, in summer time, must have been beautiful indeed, stood

-an old-fashioned, quaint, two-storeyed house. A wing, on the right of

-the building, extended as far as what apparently was a stable yard, for

-it was divided from the garden by a wall and a high gate. As the men

-and lads stood—still within the shadow of the trees—looking about them,

-the deep growl and bark of a large dog sounded from the further side of

-the wall.

-

-"Hark at that!" whispered Renard to Paul. "It must cease or our journey

-is fruitless."

-

-"It shall cease," replied the man; "have I not come prepared?"

-

-And he drew the parcel from his pocket, and out of it a piece of red,

-raw meat.

-

-Slipping off his shoes, and signing to his companions to follow his

-example, he trod noiselessly across the gravel-walk, and reaching the

-gate in a few strides, flung the meat over.

-

-There was a little fierce rush and growl, a savage snap of powerful

-jaws and click of hungry teeth, then a muffled, choking howl, a

-smothered groan, and silence.

-

-After waiting a minute or two, Paul stole back to the little group

-still standing in the deep shadow.

-

-"That one will bark no more," remarked he. "Now come—there is nothing

-to fear. The monsieur and his lady are quite old, and there are only

-women servants in the place. Follow me."

-

-And Paul led the way round the house to the back, where a little

-scullery or wash-house was built out into the garden, with the kitchen

-apparently behind it. In the wall of the scullery, a small window was

-open.

-

-Paul now whispered a few words in Renard's ear. And the latter nodded

-and said, "Oui, parfaitement," then turned to the boys, who stood by

-wondering what was coming next.

-

-For a minute or so, old Foxy looked first at one of the lads, then at

-the other, then back at the window, as though measuring with his eye

-the available space. At last, making up his mind, he leaned forward,

-and spoke in Phil's ear:

-

-"Philipe, you shall go in dere, and tro' de house, and you weel for us

-open de big door or a weendow if de door be deeficult. Hear you?"

-

-Phil did not answer.

-

-Tad's scared eyes were fixed upon his friend's face, and he saw the

-thin cheeks blanch, but the boy's gaze, fixed upon Foxy, was clear and

-steadfast, and his pale lips were resolute.

-

-"Ma foi! Why answer you not, Philipe?" said his master, after a

-moment's silence. "Hear you?"

-

-"Yes, master, I hear," replied the boy, in a low, firm voice that

-somehow thrilled Tad to the heart.

-

-"Den do wat I tell. Go in dere!" And Renard pointed a crooked

-forefinger at the window. "Queek, queek!" added he, as Phil did not

-stir, "or you weel be sorry." And a threatening look in the man's dark,

-evil face gave emphasis to his words.

-

-Tad held his breath with a strange, mingled feeling of horror, wonder,

-and admiration, as he saw his little companion draw himself up, and

-look straight and unfaltering into Foxy's green eyes. Another moment,

-and the childish voice said firmly:

-

-"No, master, I will not go."

-

-"Wat is dat you say? You weel not?" said Foxy in an angry whisper. "But

-wait a leetle, it am you dat shall pay later, when old Renard give you

-de steek." Then he turned to Tad and said: "You did hear me wat I say

-to Philipe; well now I tell you same. Go you in dere and open to us,

-Edouard."

-

-Tad met his cruel master's wicked, green eyes, then glanced at Paul

-and Jean, who were impatiently waiting. The lad's courage was a poor

-one at best, and though he well knew that the crime of burglary was

-intended, and that he was required to help the burglars, he would never

-have found strength to withstand the pressure put upon him, had not

-Phil just at that moment laid his little, frail hand on his friend's

-shoulder and said:

-

-"Brave it out, Tad! Don't give in!" And then Tad heard the boy add

-under his breath: "O Lord, please help us, and save us from being

-wicked."

-

-"Wed you go in dere?" hissed Foxy again.

-

-"Will I?" repeated Tad, shamed out of his cowardice by Phil's example.

-"Will I, master? No, then—I just won't, so there!"

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XI

-

-GOOD-BYE TO FOXY

-

-RENARD turned in a white rage towards the men, Paul and Jean, who were

-standing impatiently waiting for the result of the parley with the two

-lads.

-

-"What can I do?" he whispered, his utterance thick with passion. "One

-cannot use force; there might be an outcry which would rouse the whole

-house. What then is to be done?"

-

-Paul advanced a step and pushed him aside.

-

-"Since you have failed, Renard, in your half of the bargain," said he,

-"you cannot expect to share in the profits. Go away now, you and these

-useless boys of yours."

-

-"But Paul," exclaimed Foxy, "did I not—"

-

-"No," interrupted Paul, "I will hear nothing."

-

-And Jean added:

-

-"Enough, Renard; go without more words. Your belongings which are in

-the cart we will leave at No. 9 in the village to-morrow. There—that is

-all we have to say to you—now go."

-

-With a snarl of savage disappointment and rage, Renard, taking the boys

-by the arm, led them away down the dark, shady walk by which they had

-come, and out once more into the road, where, under the shadow of two

-great trees, stood the cart and the patient horse.

-

-"Oh, but you weel pay for dis, mine sweet boys!" muttered Renard, as

-he dragged the reluctant lads along. "Yes, you weel pay for dis—as

-de English say—tro' de nose. Dis night you have make me lose lot of

-moneys, and old Renard, he forgives not; dat you shall remember for

-effer. Amen."

-

-A village well-known to Foxy was not far distant, and towards this he

-now led the two boys, muttering awful threats in mingled French and

-English, and swearing horribly under his breath. When they hung back,

-or for a moment struggled to free themselves, his cruel clutches forced

-them on.

-

-In this fashion the village was reached, a place which at this hour

-looked like a little city of the dead, for there was not a light in the

-one straggling street of which the hamlet consisted. But Renard went

-straight to a small house standing back a few paces from the crooked

-thoroughfare in a narrow strip of weed-grown garden. Here he knocked

-in a peculiar way—not at the door, but at the window, and in a minute

-or two the door was opened to him. A few words passed between him and

-the man who opened the door, then Renard and the boys were shown into a

-room on the ground floor, where were two straw mattresses and a couple

-a three-legged stools and a table.

-

-Setting down the candle which the owner of the house had given him,

-Foxy locked the door, and pulled off his rusty overcoat, first drawing

-from one of the pockets a coil of stout cord. Then sitting down on one

-of the stools, he proceeded to twist and knot this cord, until he had

-fashioned out of it a kind of rough cat-o'-nine-tails or scourge. But

-he glanced up now and again, and the malignant look on his ugly face—a

-mingling of frown and leer, full of evil triumph and covert menace—sent

-a shudder of fearful expectation through the chilled forms of the two

-lads huddled together on one of the straw mattresses.

-

-In a few minutes the instrument of punishment was completed, and

-Renard, getting up from his seat, came towards the bed, and brandishing

-his scourge, said to Tad:

-

-"Now, Edouard, hark to me! You shall take this wiep and you weel beat

-Philipe teel I tell you assez—enough. And as for you, Philipe, put off

-your coat, dat do wiep may work well. So! Allons! Begeen, and forget

-not dat you master is—"

-

-"What!" cried Tad, aghast. "What, master! You want me to set upon this

-poor little chap and flog him? You don't mean it—you can't!"

-

-"Mais certainement I mean it!" replied Foxy, showing his teeth. "Take

-dis wiep of cords and beat well Philips, or—" and the man's face

-assumed a yet more evil and threatening aspect.

-

-"Don't anger him no more, dear Tad," said Phil in a whisper. "Do as he

-tells you. I can bear it. I ain't afeared of a thrashin' that I haven't

-deserved. There, I'm quite ready, and you'll see I won't cry nor make a

-sound."

-

-But Tad that night had learned a great lesson while he stood with the

-burglars outside the little window of the outhouse. He had seen this

-gentle little lad brave the utmost that three villains could do to

-him, rather than commit a crime in obedience to their commands—a crime

-of which, but for Phil's example, Tad felt that he himself should

-certainly have been guilty.

-

-And now—could he inflict pain upon this brave child, for fear of

-anything Renard could do? No—the lesson had not been lost upon the lad.

-True he had been on the downward track ever since he ran away from

-home, but here was the chance for a step up. Once more a chance lay

-before him, and his resolve was taken.

-

-Pulling himself together, he rose and faced Renard, looking full in the

-cruel green eyes without flinching.

-

-"Master," said he firmly, "Phil is little, and I'm big, and what's

-more, he haven't done nothin' wrong, and I ain't a-goin' to lay a

-finger on him—not for you nor no one. I won't—no matter what you say

-nor what you do."

-

-For a minute old Foxy stared at the lad, hardly able to believe his own

-ears. But when Tad repeated: "I wouldn't do master, not if it were ever

-so," the man raised his sinewy right arm and with a blasphemous oath

-struck him down upon the mattress where Phil was lying. Then snatching

-up the scourge which he had dropped for a moment in the surprise of

-Tad's refusal to obey him, he began to use it upon both the boys,

-Tad managing to cover his little friend, now and again, with his own

-broader back, thus shielding him from many a blow.

-

-The flogging went on till Renard's arm was tired and weak. Then he

-flung the instrument of torture aside, and going back to the corner

-where he had thrown his coat, he drew out of one of its capacious

-pockets a bottle of spirit, and sitting down upon the second mattress,

-began to drink, muttering ominously the while.

-

-We have said that, as a rule, Foxy only became more excited and furious

-the more he took, and that he managed to stop short of the helpless

-stage. But this night, either because he was more weary than usual, or

-that he had a greater craving for the stimulant in which he habitually

-indulged, he went on drinking steadily until he passed from the raving

-and excited stage into a drunken stupor, and at last rolled over on the

-straw couch quite unconscious, the now empty bottle escaping from his

-listless hand.

-

-For a little while Tad and Phil lay still. Sore and aching all over,

-they had eagerly watched their master in the various stages of his

-intoxication, and now they half feared lest he should be only shamming,

-to see what they would do.

-

-But at last his stertorous breathing convinced the lads that he was in

-a stupor. Tad was the first to sit up, and Phil, glancing at him, was

-frightened at the expression of his friend's face. The eyes were hard

-and sullen, the mouth rigid, and a dogged scowl was sot deep between

-the brows.

-

-"Now at last," said Tad with a gasp, "we can take some kind of revenge

-upon that brute for all he's made us suffer. I'd like to kill him—I

-would; he deserves it. But I suppose we must be content with robbin'

-him. Where does he keep the tin, Phil?"

-

-The younger lad caught Tad's arm with a look of fear and horror. "Are

-you crazy, Tad?" he whispered. "Do you want to be as wicked as he is?

-After standin' out agen bein' burglars, are we goin' to be common

-thieves! Think, Tad—only think a moment! You must be well-nigh off your

-head, dear old boy, to speak of such a thing."

-

-"But we may never have such a chance again, Phil," said Tad.

-

-"Yes, that's true; and so let's clear out, and run away from Foxy.

-Better starve or die of cold alone and out in the open than live longer

-with this brute. Come, Tad—come quick, afore he wakes up."

-

-"But we can't get out," whispered the elder lad. "Foxy locked the door,

-and the key's in his right trouser pocket, and he's lyin' on that side;

-we can't get it nohow."

-

-"Then we'll get out at the winder," replied Phil. "See, it opens down

-the middle, and we can just squeeze through. Be quick, Tad; Foxy's

-snorin' like a hog now, but he may wake at any time."

-

-Picking up their coats and caps, the boys opened the window, and just

-managed to get through, though for Tad it was a pretty tight fit.

-

-Then away they went, lame, battered, and sore with their recent blows,

-but running at their best pace down the dark, crooked street, pausing

-not even to take breath, until they found themselves well outside the

-village, with miles of quiet open country stretching away before them,

-and a faint dawn just streaking the far-off east.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XII

-

-A FRIEND AND AN ENEMY

-

-"THERE'S one thing I wish we'd been able to do," said Phil, as soon as

-he could get breath enough to speak.

-

-"And what's that?" asked Tad.

-

-"Warn the people at that house we went to rob, and let 'em know there

-was burglars about," replied Phil. "I never thought of it till now, but

-we might have set up a screech or a loud whistle just to wake folks,

-and maybe frighten Paul and Jean and Foxy."

-

-"Why, you silly, we'd only have been murdered if we'd done that," said

-Tad.

-

-"All the same," rejoined Phil the uncompromising, "I think we ought to

-have done it."

-

-"Well, we can't help ourselves now," remarked Tad, with a sigh of

-relief, for his was not a martyr's spirit, and it had never occurred to

-him to reproach himself until Phil suggested that they had neglected

-their duty.

-

-"No," he repeated, "we can't help ourselves now; it's hours since we

-left them fellows, and any mischief as was to be done has been done

-already. So it's no good goin' back, to say nothin' of our bein' sure

-to meet Foxy."

-

-Phil shuddered.

-

-"We mustn't get into his hands no more, whatever happens," said he;

-"but he'll try and catch us, you may be sure, Tad."

-

-"Yes," assented Tad, "we know too much about him not to be dangerous

-now we've run away. So of course he'll want to find us, and we'll have

-to look out."

-

-"We'd better not keep to the high roads in the daytime," said Phil; "if

-we do, he's sure to track us sooner or later."

-

-"The thing is, what can we do? Where can we go?" muttered Tad more to

-himself than to his companion. "Have you any money, Phil?"

-

-"Not a sou, Tad."

-

-"Nor I. And how we're to get food and shelter, or find work to keep us,

-goodness knows."

-

-"God knows," corrected Phil gravely, "and it's a comfort He does know.

-But now come on, Tad; we must put some miles between us and old Foxy

-afore the next few hours is over."

-

-For another half-hour they trudged along the road, talking busily, and

-trying to form some plan of action for the future. By this time the sun

-was rising, and the tardy winter morn had begun.

-

-"We must take to the fields now," said Phil. "We mustn't be seen on the

-road by any folks goin' to market, for old Foxy will be sure to ask

-everybody he meets if they've seen us, and if they had, why, it would

-end in our bein' nabbed. Come along, Tad!"

-

-So the boys left the highway, and clambering over a gate, walked along

-a strip of low marsh-land, which was, however, dry now with the frost.

-

-Here, sheltered from view by the hedge, they followed the windings of

-the road for some distance, feeling quite safe. But as the morning

-advanced, and the excitement of their escape subsided, the pangs of

-hunger and thirst became almost intolerable. And when they spied in the

-distance a little house standing among trees, they resolved to go there

-and beg for something to eat.

-

-As they approached nearer, they saw that the house was not an ordinary

-cottage, but a substantial and neatly built, though small, building of

-two storeys. It had a stable and coach-house at the back, and a little

-yard where cocks and hens were crowing and clucking over a feed of

-grain just thrown out to them.

-

-A pale, dark-eyed, sad-faced woman answered the timid knock at the door

-which Tad gave.

-

-"What would you, my children?" she asked gently. "You look weary and

-ill. What ails you? Tell me!" And her kind eyes rested with a wondering

-pity upon Phil, whose thin, patient, white little face appealed to her

-motherly heart.

-

-"We are starving, madame," said Tad, in the queer French he had picked

-up during his short stay in France; "and we have not a sou to buy

-bread. Will you, of your goodness, give us something to eat, that we

-may have strength to pursue our journey?"

-

-"Oui, certainement," replied the woman kindly. "Come into my kitchen,

-children; there sit down by the hearth, and warm yourselves, while I

-make ready for you."

-

-Soon a plentiful meal of hot milk and bread, and thick pancakes of

-buckwheat flour, was put before them. As the famished lads ate and

-drank their fill, their hospitable hostess paused now and again in

-her work, to smile at them approvingly, and heap their plates, and

-replenish their cups with a fresh supply of food and drink.

-

-At last the cravings of appetite were satisfied, and seeing how weary

-and sleepy the boys looked, the good woman said:

-

-"Listen, my children; I can see that you need rest; indeed one would

-think you had had no sleep all night. Now there is clean straw laid on

-the floor of my apple room, at the back of the house. Would you not

-like to lie down there and rest—both of you—for a few hours?"

-

-"Ah yes, indeed we should, madame!" cried Tad.

-

-"And thank you, oh, thank you for your goodness!" said Phil, glancing

-up gratefully with wistful, moistened eyes. For after all that the boys

-had known of late of hardship, privation, and above all of cruelty—they

-could hardly accept without tears, the motherly kindness of this

-gentle-hearted stranger.

-

-She led them to the back of the house, and opening a door, ushered

-them into the little room where the winter fruit stores were kept. On

-shelves round the walls were arranged, in tidy rows, on clean paper,

-rosy-cheeked apples, and hard, sound, brownish-green baking pears,

-while on the straw in one corner reposed several enormous golden

-pumpkins. Dried herbs of many kinds hung in bunches from strings

-carried across the room just below the rafters of the low roof, and

-little lath boxes of various seeds had a small shelf all to themselves.

-But on the floor, at the corner of the room furthest from the door, was

-a thick mass of fresh straw and hay, dry and fragrant, and to this the

-woman pointed.

-

-"Lie down there, my children," she said, "and sleep as long as you

-will."

-

-As they crept thankfully into their cosy bed, she went and fetched

-a horse-blanket and covered them carefully with such sweet, womanly

-tenderness, that Phil caught her hand and kissed it, and Tad looked

-up into the kind, sad face, his own softened and made beautiful by

-gratitude. Then with a gentle "Sleep well, my children!" their new

-friend left them to their repose.

-

-The boys must have slept about eight hours, for when they awoke it

-seemed to be late in the afternoon. The sun was no longer shining

-in through the slats of the shutter window; indeed the daylight

-appeared already to be on the wane. Moreover, a voice which somehow

-was familiar, and dreamily associated in their minds with something

-distinctly unpleasant, sounded in their ears, and presently roused them

-to full consciousness.

-

-"Hark!" whispered Tad. "What's that?"

-

-And the boy sat up, the old, fearful, hunted look coming back into the

-face just lately so serene in sleep.

-

-"It's someone talkin' with the woman, ain't it?" said Phil.

-

-"Yes—but don't you know the voice?" gasped Tad. "It's that man Paul,

-one of them burglars."

-

-"What shall we do?" cried Phil. "Has he come after us?"

-

-"No, no," rejoined Tad; "but p'raps this is where he lives, and maybe

-he's just got home. Listen, Phil; we'd better be quite sure it's he,

-and if the woman's told him anything, afore we makes up our mind what

-to do."

-

-Still as mice, the lads lay buried in the straw under the blanket, and

-listened breathlessly. Part of the talk they could not hear, only a low

-murmur of two voices reaching their ears.

-

-But at last the man's voice said distinctly:

-

-"Enough, Claudine; why waste my time and patience with those

-everlasting remonstrances of thine? See here, could all thy industry or

-mine, year in, year out, win such a pretty bauble as this?"

-

-Here there was a pause, as though the man were showing the woman

-something. Then he went on:

-

-"Let me put it about thy neck, my dear! Why dost thou draw back? It is

-but a plain gold cross and chain such as any woman may wear; take it!"

-

-"Never, Paul," replied the woman's voice passionately. "Never will I

-wear stolen goods. Oh, my husband!—" And here her voice broke, and she

-went on sobbingly, "thou art breaking my heart and spoiling my life

-and thine own. Think how happy we were only a short time ago, before

-the evil days of thy friendship with Jean Michel and his companions!

-Why not be content with honest labour, instead of living in fear and

-remorse as we must? For this is now the third time that thou hast

-returned from a bad night's work, bringing me gifts which I can but

-refuse as accursed things."

-

-Paul laughed a little hard laugh.

-

-"The things I bring home are but a little love-token for thee,

-Claudine. The rest of our booty finds its way to the smelting-pot

-of our Hebrew friends in the town, and thenceforth tells no tales.

-And as for my safety, wife, no fears. We work in crape masks, and we

-cover our tracks with skill. The only danger is now and then from our

-accomplices."

-

-"And how so?" questioned Claudine.

-

-Then the man told his wife how he and Jean had been joined by Renard

-and his lads on the previous night, and how, at the last moment, the

-boys had refused to do their master's bidding, so that Renard and they

-had been ordered off as worse than useless for the job they had in hand.

-

-"And the danger is," added Paul, "lest that dirty old rascal or one of

-the brats should carry some story about us to the police, just out of

-spite. As it was, we had a great deal of needless trouble. Had the boys

-been content to enter and open to us, all would have been so simple,

-so easy. But since they refused, we were forced to break in, and this

-made noise, and some of the household were roused, so that we could not

-get all we had hoped; and this, after our precautions, and our clever

-poisoning of the dog, was too bad! Ah!" added Paul fiercely. "Could

-I but lay hands on those two little rascals, I would teach them to

-disobey again!"

-

-"Did they then refuse to enter and open to thee and thy companions,

-Paul?" asked the woman.

-

-"Yes, they said they would not go, and even the threats of their master

-availed not; and we could not use force for fear of an outcry."

-

-"Tell me, what like were the lads?" inquired Claudine. "Were they small

-or big? French or—"

-

-"Why, wife, what makes then so curious about a matter that, of a

-truth, concerns thee not?" said Paul suspiciously. "Thou art never

-likely to set eyes upon the young miscreants. That greedy old

-bag-of-bones—Renard, the thief, mountebank, tailor, tinker, and what

-not—has got the lads, body and soul, and he is not likely to let them

-out of his sight."

-

-"Are they French?" asked Claudine again.

-

-"No, certainly not. With their master they spoke the English tongue,

-and a hard, jaw-breaking, cursed language it is too. One of the boys

-was little with a pale face, and the other taller, with a big round

-head like one of thine own pumpkins, Claudine. Ah, let me but catch

-them, the young monkeys! And in the space of ten minutes, no one should

-know them for the same children."

-

-To this the woman made no reply that the lads could hear; but they had

-heard enough to make them look at each other in renewed fear and horror.

-

-"We can't stay here another moment, Phil," whispered Tad. "We must go."

-

-The slatted, wooden shutter which served as a window was only fastened

-by a hook on one side. Tad stole across the straw-covered floor,

-slipped the hook out of the ring, and the shutter swung open. Swiftly

-and noiselessly the boys got out, and found themselves in a small back

-garden communicating by a gate with the yard, and divided only by a low

-fence from a lane, the tall, bare trees of which they could see rising

-above the fence. To clamber over, and drop down into the lane on the

-other side, was the work of a moment. Then away—away, in the fading

-light, as though flying for their lives—sped the two poor lads, once

-more fugitives and vagabonds in a strange land.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XIII

-

-UNEXPECTED NEWS

-

-THE plentiful meal and long sleep obtained through Claudine's

-hospitality and kindness, had done the lads good service. And when they

-recovered from their excitement and first dread of pursuit, and found

-themselves clear of the neighbourhood of the house, they felt strong

-enough to push on at a fair pace. The darkness was coming so rapidly,

-that the boys thought they might with perfect safety keep to the road.

-Along the road accordingly they trudged, looking carefully about them,

-however, and ready to hide under a hedge or crouch in a ditch, or dodge

-behind a tree at the wayside, at the least sound or threatening of

-danger.

-

-It was about eight o'clock, and they were beginning to think of making

-a halt for a rest of half an hour or so, when a slow, heavy rumbling of

-wheels along the highway made them look round.

-

-"Why, Phil," said Tad, "it's some of them travellin' carts the tramps

-and gipsies use, ain't it?"

-

-"Looks like 'em," replied Phil. "I wonder if the people would give us a

-lift just to the next town or wherever it is they're goin'!"

-

-"Let's ask 'em," said Tad. "See, there's the first cart quite near."

-

-"Shall we go and speak to that man walkin' at the horse's head?" asked

-Phil.

-

-"You go, Phil. You speak their lingo best," rejoined Tad.

-

-Phil accordingly left his companion's side, and stepping into the

-middle of the road, bade the man a very courteous good evening, adding:

-

-"My friend and I are very weary, monsieur, having come far. Would you

-have the goodness to suffer us to ride in one of your carts for a

-little way?"

-

-"Certainly, my child, with pleasure," replied the old fellow kindly.

-"Get in here. My wife Sophie and a friend of hers are inside, but there

-is still plenty of room. The carts coming behind are for the most part

-full of children and the things we are taking to sell at a fair."

-

-So saying, the old man stopped the horse, and the lads clambered into

-the cart, where they were kindly received by the two women, who were

-busily employed weaving rush baskets by the light of a little oil lamp.

-

-"Sit down there, my children," said Sophie, pointing to a sort of

-bench which extended the whole length of the cart, like the seat of an

-omnibus.

-

-"Maybe the boys are hungry," suggested the other woman, "and we cannot

-get supper till we find a good place for camping out."

-

-"Give them some bread to stay their hunger till then, Pelagie,"

-answered Sophie.

-

-And presently the lads were each munching away at a substantial hunch

-of bread sprinkled with salt.

-

-On jolted the cart, followed by three others, but it was ten o'clock

-that night before the caravan came to a place suitable for an

-encampment. Tad and Phil, grateful for the kindness shown them, and

-delighted to make themselves useful, helped to unharness the horses,

-and tether them to stakes which they drove into the ground. They

-brought water from a little stream, and gathered together, from under

-the trees by the roadside, a quantity of dead wood for a fire.

-

-The spot that had been chosen for camping out, was a tract of waste

-land between two hills of limestone rock. The place was strewn with

-stones, but was quite dry, and the fire blazed up merrily, shedding a

-welcome warmth, for the night was cold.

-

-Over this fire, as soon as it burned clear and hot, the huge soup-pot

-was hung. Into it had been put a big lump of the prepared spiced and

-salted lard (a mixture of beef and hog's fat clarified and cured) of

-which the Norman peasantry make their usual soup.

-

-Then as the grease melted in the pot, vegetables of several sorts were

-added, but chiefly potatoes, onions, and winter cabbage, with all the

-stale crusts and odds and ends of food remaining over from the day's

-rations. The pot was then filled up with water, a handful of salt mixed

-with peppercorns being thrown in. And soon this wonderful mixture was

-simmering musically over the fire, emitting a very savoury odour.

-

-While waiting for supper to be ready, some of the grown-up people

-belonging to the caravan drew to the fire, and sat down on the short,

-dry stubble.

-

-The children were already asleep in the waggons. A few of the women

-took out their knitting and worked their long needles rapidly, the

-bright steel gleaming in the fitful flare of the firelight. The men fed

-their horses, for there was not grass enough for their food, and went

-round looking for more wood to feed the fire, or sat in the circle,

-shaping garden sticks and broom-handles to sell at the fair.

-

-As for Tad and Phil, when there seemed to be nothing further for them

-to do, they came and joined the cosy party round the fire, seating

-themselves between kind old Sophie and Pelagie.

-

-At first there was a great deal of jabbering going on, but nothing to

-arrest the attention of the lads.

-

-But suddenly Phil caught Tad's arm, and whispered, "Listen, Tad! What's

-the woman saying?"

-

-Tad listened accordingly, and having learned enough now of the

-Normandy patois French to understand what was said, when he paid close

-attention, he at once became interested. For a woman of the party had

-said to old Sophie:

-

-"I forgot to ask thee, Sophie, did a letter reach thee from Angleterre,

-from thy daughter, as we passed through the town?"

-

-"Yes, Dieu merci, it did, and it was a letter that made my old heart

-glad."

-

-"And how so, Sophie, if one may ask?"

-

-"Ay, tell us!" cried another voice. "Thou knowest well, good mother,

-that all that interests thee has interest also for us."

-

-"After the last letter that came, I told you, did I not, my friends,"

-said the old woman, "how unhappy my poor child was?"

-

-"Yes, but not wherefore she was so vexed in spirit," replied Bernadine,

-a big woman with a baby in her arms. "Was that English gipsy husband of

-hers unkind to her?"

-

-"No, no, Bernadine; from the time that Jake the gipsy saw and loved my

-Marie when she was in service over there, he has been as kind as any

-husband could be, and for love of him she is more than half English

-already; but—"

-

-"Ay, good mother, tell us! What?"

-

-But what the good mother had to tell we must leave to the next chapter.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XIV

-

-OLD MEMORIES AND A NEW IDEA

-

-"SHE lost her little one when it was six months old," answered the old

-woman, "and she was grieving and pining, and well-nigh heart-broken,

-when one day le bon Dieu sent her, in a strange, unlooked-for way,

-another child!"

-

-"How so, Sophie? Tell us, good mother!"

-

-The old woman went on:

-

-"It was like this, my friends. The gipsy troupe into which my daughter

-Marie married, were encamped one day on a common, and thither came a

-lad with an infant in his arms. Towards evening, he sauntered up to the

-camp and met Marie, and asked her if she would take care of the baby

-for a while, he having business elsewhere. Marie gladly took the child,

-having no thought then but to give it back when its young guardian

-returned.

-

-"But night came on, and the old gipsy chief gave the word to move on,

-and the boy had not returned. And then arose the great longing in

-Marie's heart to keep the baby boy—did I say it was a boy?—to comfort

-her for the loss of her own infant. She yielded to the temptation, and

-the troupe left the neighbourhood that night, the stranger child with

-them, and Marie's sore heart has healed now she has a little one in her

-arms again. Albeit she writes me that she cannot but think sometimes of

-the child's mother, who may be sorrowing even yet over the loss of her

-baby."

-

-During the story Tad clutched Phil's arm.

-

-"Only think of that," he whispered. "Ain't it just wonderful?"

-

-"Hush," said Phil, "let's hear it out."

-

-"Said thy daughter nought of coming over to France to see thee?" asked

-the big Bernadine.

-

-"Pardon; yes she did say that she and her husband were trying to scrape

-together money enough to bring her over, for it is three full years

-since she left with the English family, and she is a dutiful daughter,

-God be thanked, and would fain see her old parents again."

-

-"And will it be soon, thinkest thou, good mother?"

-

-"I cannot tell for sure, but it may be soon. The troupe are near

-Southampton now, and thence, I have heard, sail many English vessels

-for la France. But who knows if Marie will get the money for her

-voyage?"

-

-"Knowest thou, mother Sophie," said a man who had not hitherto spoken a

-word, "that if Marie be caught by the police of the country, she could

-be severely punished for stealing that child?"

-

-"Ah, sayest thou so, Pierre?"

-

-"Yes, it is a dangerous thing to do, and I wonder much that she has

-escaped till now."

-

-"She wrote me that, for safety's sake, she burned all the little boy's

-clothes, and dressed him in her own baby's things. And also, for the

-first month, she coloured his skin and hair with walnut juice and

-water, to make him dark like her own child. After that the troupe moved

-so far away, that she thought all danger was past."

-

-"Without doubt she was right," said Pierre; "indeed it has proved so,

-since—but stay—who is that approaching us across the open, from the

-road?"

-

-"It is a man—a stranger," said Bernadine.

-

-"An old man he looks, by the light of the moon," said Sophie.

-

-"Perhaps he is cold and hungry," suggested old Jacques, Sophie's

-husband. "If so, he is welcome to a share of our fire and our supper."

-

-But just then Tad glanced in the direction of the newcomer, and gave a

-smothered gasp.

-

-"Oh look, Phil, look!" he said.

-

-And Phil looked and rose instantly to his feet, followed by Tad. The

-younger boy turned to Sophie.

-

-"Good mother, we thank and bless you for your goodness to us, poor

-stranger boys," he said, "and we ask of you one more favour. This man

-who now is coming towards us is a wicked, cruel master, from whom,

-after sore treatment, we have only just escaped. If he catches us, he

-will surely kill us. So we must go away at once, and we entreat you,

-betray us not. Say not that two boys were here but now. He cannot have

-seen us yet; so far we are safe; so, for the love of heaven, tell him

-naught."

-

-"Fear not, my poor children, he shall know nothing from me, nor indeed

-from any of us; eh, my friends?"

-

-"That is so, good mother."

-

-"Then good-night, my boys, and may God guard you!"

-

-The next moment the two lads, parting from the circle round the dancing

-firelight, had vanished into the darkness.

-

-As the poor lads fled once more from the approach of the old enemy,

-they were at first almost in despair. And no wonder; for they had

-believed themselves out of reach of pursuit at last. And now to see

-that wicked old Foxy apparently tracking them like a sleuthhound, was a

-dreadful thing.

-

-But as their fear gradually subsided, they began to feel that Renard's

-appearance among the French gipsies was no indication what over of his

-knowing where they (Tad and Phil) were; and that, had he seen them

-sitting with their hospitable entertainers round the fire, he would

-probably have been to the full as much surprised as they had been to

-see him.

-

-But it gave the lads a renewed sense of danger to have caught sight,

-even for a moment, of the man who had shown himself so treacherous a

-companion, so cruel a master, and it was not strange that Tad presently

-said despondingly:

-

-"It's no go, Phil, we'll never be safe till we're out of France."

-

-"Out of France? That's easier said than done," rejoined Phil. "And how

-are we to get out of this country?"

-

-"I don't know, I'm sure! That's the worst of it. We seem headed off

-all round. But I did hear that this road leads to St. Malo, and that

-English vessels is always comin' in and out of there. There may p'r'aps

-be some chance for us, Phil, if we get to St. Malo."

-

-"That's just what old Foxy's reckonin' upon our thinkin'," replied

-Phil, "and that's why he's come along this road after us, I should say.

-And he'll have a much better chance to nab us down at St. Malo than

-he's had here in the country, where there's always places to hide in.

-It's risky, and just think how long we might have to stay in the town

-before we'd a chance of crossin' over to England—if ever the chance

-came at all."

-

-"Ay, I didn't think of that," answered Tad. "I wish we was back in

-Granville, I do; I'd like to turn in our tracks this minute and go

-right back there. Renard would never think of our doin' that, and would

-go on to St. Malo lookin' for us. At Granville, p'raps we might see

-Captain Jeremiah Jackson again with his schooner; he that picked me up

-when I was floatin' about in a open boat."

-

-"But dare you think of goin' back to England at all?" asked Phil.

-"After what you've told me, I shouldn't think you'd want to go home.

-Think of your stepmother, Tad, and the police that was after you for

-takin' away your little brother!"

-

-In his longing to get away from the dangers and troubles that beset

-him in France, Tad had forgotten those that drove him from his native

-place, and were still awaiting him there. Now he was silent for some

-time, turning things over in his mind. What Phil said was true, only

-too true. Hard as things had been for him in France, they would be

-worse still in England, unless indeed he could do something to deserve

-and ensure a welcome at home, and also prove to the police that he had

-not been guilty of any crime with regard to his little brother.

-

-"You're right enough, Phil," he said at last. "There's one thing, and

-only one, that would make it possible for me to go home."

-

-"And what's that?" asked Phil.

-

-"Just this, kidnappin' that child again, and carryin' of him home to

-his mother."

-

-Phil shook his head.

-

-"That's a hard nut to crack," said he. "And I don't see much chance

-myself of your goin' to England now or ever, if it hangs on gettin'

-hold of the baby again. Oh Tad, what a pity you didn't begin your

-runnin' away from home quite by yourself; it's havin' had that baby for

-the one day, as has made all the mischief."

-

-Again Tad was silent. Phil's words were quite true; he knew now how

-very dearly he had paid for that bit of revenge upon his stepmother.

-Once more he was thinking things over, and going back to the very

-beginning—to the wrong start he had made on that Sunday which now

-seemed so very long ago. The events of the last few days had worked a

-change in the boy. He was beginning dimly to see how, from first to

-last, he had been his own enemy, and how he had himself to thank for

-the worst of his misfortunes.

-

-Phil's influence and example too had shown him, more clearly than he

-had ever perceived it before, the difference between right and wrong,

-while it strengthened the affection which he felt for this child, the

-reverence that he could not withhold, when he thought of the courageous

-soul in so frail a form.

-

-By contrasting what he was beginning to know of himself with the

-estimate he had made of Phil's character, he could not help feeling

-what a cowardly, selfish, contemptible sort of a fellow he had been

-throughout.

-

-"It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks," Jeremiah Jackson had

-said, and Tad had proved to his cost how true these words were. Just

-as some kinds of blindness can only be cured by the surgeon's knife,

-so there are some forms of blindness of the soul, for which the Great

-Physician has to use sharp remedies, ere it can see itself as it is,

-and turn repenting to Him Who alone giveth sight to the spiritually

-blind.

-

-"I'm a bad lot, I am, Phil!" said the boy at length, after a long

-silence, during which he was taking stock of what he was worth, and

-finding how little it amounted to. "Yes, I'm a bad lot, Phil, more's

-the pity!"

-

-"You've been awfully good and kind to me, Tad," replied Phil, turning

-towards him affectionately, and putting a confiding hand through his

-arm. "Yes, you've been like a brother to me, ever since that day at

-Granville when you give me and the monkey your baked dumplin'. What's

-that you're sayin', Tad dear? Do I love you? Rather! Of course I love

-you true and faithful, dear old man."

-

-Tad gulped down a sob.

-

-"I don't deserve it, Phil, and that's the truth," he said humbly; "but

-if you'll keep on doin' of it, I'll try to deserve it. There! That's a

-bargain!"

-

-"Let's try and help each other to be good!" said Phil simply. "Mother

-used to tell me as how, if we chose, we might always have the Lord on

-our side. And if we did have Him, we was more than a match for any

-enemy. Do you remember that story in the Bible, Tad, about 'Lisha,

-when his enemies came and got all round the place where he was? There

-was chariots and horsemen and a great host—all sent to take that one

-poor feller. No wonder his servant was frightened and said, 'Alas, my

-master, how shall we do?' For thinks he to hisself, 'Here we are—the

-two of us—all by our lone; no one to care for us, nor no one to help

-us, and the enemy down there a-spreadin' hisself like a green baize.'

-Do you call to mind the story, Tad?"

-

-"No; go on, Phil."

-

-"Well," said Phil, "then what does 'Lisha do but pray to God to open

-the servant's eyes, and the answer to that there prayer must have come

-mighty quick, for all of a sudden, the man saw plain enough what he'd

-never thought of afore—that the mountain was full of chariots and

-horsemen of fire, round about 'Lisha; and that there was more friends

-than enemies; many more for than agen them. But as mother said," added

-Phil, "God's host were there afore the servant's eyes were opened, only

-he didn't know it. And that's how it is with us sometimes. We think

-we're all alone, because we don't see the chariots and horsemen of fire

-round about us, and we don't understand how much we may be helped, if

-we will, nor how ready the Lord is to hear and answer if we pray."

-

-"I shouldn't wonder if you was right, Phil," said Tad; "howsumdever

-there ain't no 'Lisha nowadays, nor no chariots and horsemen of fire

-to come between old Foxy or Paul and us poor lads—worse luck! And when

-we can't see nothin', it's hard to believe that help's near. But now,

-Phil, I've got a idea, so just you listen and tell me what you think of

-it. Other things bein' equal, we'd like to leave France and get back to

-England, eh?"

-

-"Yes," replied Phil, "I s'pose so."

-

-"Right so far, then. But you see I can't go back unless I can take the

-kid home with me."

-

-"Ay, that's clear enough," assented Phil.

-

-"Well then, here's what I'm a-goin' to propose. Let's go back to them

-tramps, or gipsies, or whatever they are, and ask if they'll let us

-live with them for the present. They're kind people, and if we help

-them all we can, it'll go hard but we'll earn our board and lodgin'."

-

-"Well?" said Phil, feeling that the most important of what Tad had set

-out to say, was unsaid as yet.

-

-"Well," repeated Tad, "my idea was this, that we should stay on with

-them, movin' when and where they did, and livin' their life until—"

-

-"Ah, I see what you mean!" cried Phil. "Until Sophie's daughter, Marie,

-came with the baby, and then—"

-

-"Yes, that's it! Steal the baby again, and cut away," said Tad, "and

-trust to chance for gettin' across the Channel."

-

-But Phil shook his head.

-

-"No," said he firmly, "no more stealin' of babies, nor of nothin' else!

-It would be a wicked and ongrateful thing to do to them, as had been

-good to us, and beside I don't hold with bein' so secret and sly."

-

-"But we want to get hold of the child," argued Tad, "and we can't get

-him onless we take him like that."

-

-"I don't know; maybe we can," replied Phil; "anyway I'd try fair means

-first. And besides, Marie might remember your face, and know you again,

-and then she'd be extra careful not to give you a chance to steal the

-baby."

-

-"I'd not thought of that," said Tad. "Well, Phil, say that we go back

-to old Sophie and Jacques and their people, and live with them, if

-they'll have us, and anyway, if Marie and the baby come or not, we'll

-have time to look about us and think what we'll do next."

-

-"Yes, that's a good plan," replied Phil; "we can't do better as I knows

-of. But while we're talkin' of goin' back to the caravan, here we are

-walkin' on, and gettin' further away every minute."

-

-"That's true; come, let's turn now and go back; but as we may chance to

-meet old Foxy, we'd better crawl along in the shadow of the hedge, one

-behind the other, and not talk at all."

-

-This was slow progress, but the only safe course, as they proved very

-soon. For they heard steps approaching along the road, when they had

-gone a part of their return journey, and in the darkness they heard old

-Renard's heavy, shuffling step, and the low muttering in which—like

-Saul of Tarsus, before his conversion—he seemed to be breathing out

-threatening and slaughter, thus pleasantly beguiling the loneliness

-of the way. That he had other and yet more dangerous consolation too,

-was proved beyond all doubt; for almost opposite to the boys, as they

-crouched trembling under the hedge, Renard paused, and they heard a

-cork taken from a bottle, and then deep swallows of drink; probably the

-stimulant in which his soul chiefly delighted; the new and fiery cognac

-which is reckoned among the worst and most harmful of intoxicants.

-

-Having drunk deeply, Foxy passed on.

-

-But it was not until his footfall had ceased to sound upon the hard

-road, that the lads dared to creep from their hiding-place, and resume

-their journey back to the camp.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XV

-

-TURNING THE TABLES

-

-IT is said, and with truth, that all, or nearly all, wandering races

-are rich in the grace of hospitality, and these French gipsies, or

-rather tramps of a mixed race, had kind hearts, as Tad and Phil proved.

-

-Poor, outcast, homeless creatures as they were, strangers in a strange

-land, these good people had asked of them but few questions, but made

-the boys heartily welcome, giving them permission to continue with the

-troupe so long as it suited them to do so.

-

-Old Jacques had said, furthermore, when he yielded to the earnest

-entreaty of the lads, "Yes, my children, and I accept your offer of

-service. We are not rich, and we cannot afford to keep anyone in

-idleness. You will therefore work as we do, and be one with us in all

-things, subject also to the laws that govern us. For we have our own

-rules which we strictly enforce, and punishment is inflicted upon all

-those who break them."

-

-The boys had readily promised obedience. Any rule, any yoke of service,

-would be light, and even pleasant, after the miseries of their late

-servitude, and now they gladly resolved to be docile, industrious,

-and helpful. Very soon they found they were taken at their word, and

-that there was no want of employment for anyone willing and able. They

-learned the art of basket-making, Phil's slender hands being specially

-clever in this. They made flower-sticks, clothes-pegs, twig-brooms,

-and broom-handles. They caned chairs, mended kitchen furniture for the

-poor people, and did a little rough tinkering. Phil, too, soon proved

-himself a good hand at weaving big rush hats for farm labourers, and

-very proud he was when he could hand over into good mother Sophie's

-care a handful of coppers, the wages of his industry.

-

-Tad, on the other hand, was just as useful in the heavier and rougher

-work, and in the daily routine duties of the camp. He felt it no

-indignity to be a hewer of wood and drawer of water to the kind people

-who had extended towards him and Phil so generous a helping hand in

-their dire distress and destitution.

-

-Ready in all things else to do the gipsies' bidding, the boys had

-begged that they should never be sent on errands that necessitated

-their going any distance alone. They had told Jacques and Sophie

-enough of their story to bespeak the sympathy and protection of the

-good old couple, and to show them that a meeting with Renard, Paul,

-or Jean might prove dangerous to their freedom, and possibly even to

-their lives. So the lads were kept to duties within the precincts

-of the camp; and in the busy, out-of-door life which they led, they

-lost, after a while, all fear of the evil men, the dread of whose

-reappearance had hitherto haunted them like evil phantoms.

-

-For some time they heard nothing more about Marie and her plans. But

-one day Sophie and Jacques were talking together, and Tad heard what

-was said. The gipsies had decided to go on the next day to St. Malo,

-and encamp in a piece of waste ground about half a mile out of the town.

-

-"At the town post-office, a letter from our daughter will probably be

-awaiting us," Sophie had said, "and let us hope she will soon follow

-it, coming by one of the steamers that bring passengers to this port."

-

-The next day the little procession of gipsy vans passed through the

-town, not stopping, however, anywhere until it reached the open space

-where the troupe could encamp without fear of disturbing anyone, or

-being themselves molested.

-

-One morning Tad and Phil were busy helping Sophie and Pelagie with the

-noonday meal. It was not often these gipsies had meat or poultry of any

-kind, but to-day one of the party had bought from a farmer's man, for a

-mere trifle, an antiquated rooster of venerable aspect, and the whole

-company were in high glee at the thought of adding this dainty to the

-usual soup.

-

-But first old chanticleer must be plucked and cleaned, and Tad was set

-to work at this, while Phil helped to wash turnips and carrots, and

-peel onions and potatoes for the pot-au-feu.

-

-Jacques and one or two of the men had gone into the town to call at

-the post-office and make some necessary purchases, and the rest of the

-troupe were employed about the camp in various ways.

-

-It was one of those mild mornings in March which come sometimes,

-closely following a storm of wind and rain, and which give, in their

-balmy freshness and sweetness, promise of the yet fairer time at hand.

-

-Light-hearted as the birds, the boys were chattering over their work,

-breaking out, now and again, into some fragment of English song, when

-a voice behind them said, "Bon jour, mine cheeldren! So I you have

-found at de last, you were naughty boys. Oh unkind and tankless to run

-yourselves away from de good, kind master, from dis poor old Renard dat

-did lofe you so moche!"

-

-The boys started and turned. Tad, in his horror, almost tumbled the

-ancient fowl—now partially denuded of his scant feathers—into the fire,

-and Phil overturned the big basin of water into which he was putting

-his peeled vegetables.

-

-"Ah, mine leetle dears!" went on Renard with his evil, sneering smile.

-"You am agitate. It is widout doubt from de joy to see once more you

-dear old master. Ah, truly yes. Well now we am discover one anoder,

-you shall bote come back to me, and all weel be as before, but steel

-better. Oh yes, believe me, mine dears, so moche better."

-

-The lads, paralysed with terror, still said nothing, and just at that

-moment, up came old Sophie and Pelagie to see if the provisions in hand

-were ready yet for the big pot which they had filled at the brook. As

-Sophie approached, Tad made a spring, and falling on his knees before

-her, caught her gown.

-

-"Oh dear mother, good mother Sophie, here is this dreadful man!" he

-cried. "It is he—our master of whom we told you! Give us not up to him!

-For God's sake suffer him not to take us away with him!"

-

-Phil said nothing, but he too had come near, and with pleading eyes

-fixed on the old woman's face, awaited her answer.

-

-She put a motherly hand upon each of the boys, and turning to Renard

-said:

-

-"Surely, monsieur, I have seen you before! Did you not come to us some

-nights ago, on the other side of St. Malo?"

-

-"Madame, you are right," replied Renard, doffing his greasy cap and

-making a low bow which had about it an insulting air of mockery.

-

-"And on that occasion," went on Sophie, "you made inquiry respecting

-two lads?"

-

-"I did so, madame; once more you are entirely right."

-

-"Are these the lads then, monsieur?"

-

-"These are they, madame, sans doute. The eye of love—such love as I

-have for these dear petits garcons—" and Foxy showed his teeth—"is not

-to be deceived."

-

-"What then do you want, monsieur, now you have found them?" asked

-Mother Sophie.

-

-"Madame, you are a stranger to me!" cried Foxy. "You know not—how

-should you?—this heart of mine, or you would not make such an inquiry.

-Unworthy, ungrateful as these children are, I am ready (such is my

-magnanimous nature!) to forgive and receive them back into my affection

-and my service."

-

-"Hein, monsieur! Eh bien!" cried the strident voice of Pelagie, who

-had hitherto stood silent. "But what say the boys to this? You say you

-are willing to have them back; now the question is, are they ready to

-return to you? For there should be two sides to a bargain, monsieur, as

-all the world knows."

-

-"You have reason, Pelagie," said Sophie quietly. "What say you, my

-children?" and the old woman's voice softened, and her face grew tender

-and pitiful, as the lads clung to her in their fear and distress. "What

-say you, will you go with Monsieur Renard, your former master?"

-

-"No, no, good mother, never! Never again!" cried both boys at once.

-

-Old Sophie turned once more to Foxy.

-

-"You see, monsieur, that these lads do not wish to avail themselves of

-the kindness you offer them, so there is nothing more to be said, and I

-will wish you bon jour, Monsieur Renard."

-

-Renard's face at this lost its mocking grin, and became dark and

-louring.

-

-"And know you not, you stupid gipsy woman," he shrieked, "that I—Jules

-Renard—have a right to these children? And I swear to you—ugly old hag

-that you are—if you give them not up to me this very minute, I will

-bring the police from, the town, and then, not only will the lads have

-to come with me, but you will be punished for detaining them."

-

-"Ah, Monsieur Renard, if it comes to talk of police, perchance you

-are not the only one who may have somewhat to say," remarked a deep,

-stern voice behind Foxy. And good old Jacques, backed by two of the

-troupe—stalwart nephews of his—appeared on the scene. "Listen, my

-friend; we have information that you, and two worthy companions of

-yours, were more or less concerned in a burglary not very far from

-here, and their names and the home of one of them are known to us. We

-are quiet people, Monsieur Renard, and we seek no quarrel with any; but

-another word from you, another threat against us or these children, and

-at once we give in our information at headquarters at St. Malo. And

-as for your treatment of the boys—there is a law in France to protect

-them, and to punish those who sin against them. Look to yourself, you

-fox by name and fox by nature. Seek not to meddle with these lads, or

-you may find yourself where you would rather not be."

-

-The stern, uncompromising manner and words of the old gipsy seemed to

-make an impression on Renard, who cowered and cringed as the man was

-speaking. But he turned it off lightly, only saying as he turned away:

-

-"That is all nonsense; you could not hurt me if you would. But of

-course I will not press this matter of the boys, if they do not wish to

-return to me. Keep them, if you like to do so, and I wish you joy of

-your bargain. You will repent it some day."

-

-Once more bowing low, cap in hand, and a sardonic leer on his thin

-lips, Renard bade the gipsies good day, while, watching him till out

-of sight on the St. Malo road, Tad and Phil at last dared to breathe

-freely once more.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XVI

-

-TAD HARDENS HIS HEART

-

-"PHIL, Phil, they're just comin'. I'm first, 'cause I ran on before;

-but they're—"

-

-"Who, Tad?" inquired Phil, who was sitting under the shelter of Mother

-Sophie's cart, very busy finishing a huge hat.

-

-"Why, who should it be but Marie and the baby?"

-

-"You don't say!" cried Phil, jumping up.

-

-"You know I went with Father Jacques to St. Malo, this morning,"

-explained Tad. "Well, the chap at the little place on the quay said

-the passengers by the boat 'Princess,' had arrived, and was now in the

-Custom House.

-

-"And says Father Jacques to me, 'My daughter Marie was to come in the

-"Princess." Wait here a moment while I go up to the Custom House.'

-

-"So I waited, and sure enough, the Customs door opened, and out comes

-the woman, and on her arm the little un, growed into quite a big boy,

-and lookin' as though he could run alone as well as me or you."

-

-"Did she see you, Tad?" asked Phil.

-

-"No, I turned sort of sideways so as not to look her in the face.

-

-"But Father Jacques, he calls out to me, 'Here, Edouard, run back to

-the camp and tell the mother we come.'

-

-"So off I goes like a shot, and here I am."

-

-"You've told Mother Sophie?"

-

-"Oh yes, and she and Pelagie set to work to make coffee for Marie. It

-would be tea if we was in England. My eye! Shouldn't I like a good cup

-of tea again!"

-

-"Well now," said Phil, sitting down again to his work, "what do you

-think of doin' about that child?"

-

-"I give it up; ask me another," replied Tad, half vexed, half laughing.

-"Blest if I know what to do! I want to get back to England, and yet I

-can't go home without the child, and—"

-

-"But you won't steal him, will you, Tad?" questioned Phil very

-earnestly.

-

-"I don't know about that," replied Tad, "can't promise. 'Taint likely

-Marie 'll give up the little chap of her own free will, just when

-she's got used to him and all. No, Phil, nor I don't see no great harm

-neither, in takin' him away. He ain't no property of hers. She stole

-him, and it would only be givin' her tit for tat."

-

-"My mother used to say two wrongs don't make a right, Tad, and after

-all it wasn't Marie who stole him first of all. It was you."

-

-"But I never meant to keep him, you see; I was a-goin' to take him home

-when I'd given his mother one for herself."

-

-"Tad, listen to me," said Phil; "you've been so nice and good and dear

-this long while now, and always done things I asked you, even when they

-was hard. Now do promise me, dear old chap, that you won't do nothin'

-but what's quite straightforward and honest." And Phil looked up in the

-elder boy's face with that wistful entreaty in his eyes which Tad had

-always found it hard to resist.

-

-But he was in a perverse mood to-day. One of his unreasonable, restless

-fits was upon him too, and the thought of some wild, lawless adventure

-was sweet to him. Some lessons Tad had learned from the teachings of

-adversity and from Phil's influence and example, but in many ways he

-was the old self-willed Tad still. No—assuredly he would not allow

-himself to be persuaded into making this promise, for if he did, he

-must keep it, and then—why then some good chance might slip by, and he

-might never get back to England at all.

-

-"No, Phil," he said. "I won't promise; how can I tell what may turn up?

-And I ain't goin' to tie myself in a hard knot for you nor no one. So

-there!"

-

-Phil said no more, but turned away sighing.

-

-The recognition which Tad had tried to avoid was bound to come some

-time, and come it did the very next morning. Marie was strolling about

-the camp field with the child toddling beside her, when she met Tad

-face to face. He cast down his eyes and would have passed on, but she

-stopped him.

-

-"Where have I seen you before, my boy?" she asked in French. But

-suddenly her face changed, she snatched the baby up, and held

-him close. "Ah," she added, "I remember now; yet it seems almost

-impossible."

-

-Still Tad said nothing, and there was a dead silence between them for

-what seemed like a very long while.

-

-"You are English?" said the woman at length.

-

-"Yes, missis," replied Tad.

-

-"Have you met me before?"

-

-"Yes, missis, when—when you stole that there child as you've got in

-your arms. He's my little brother, he is."

-

-"I don't believe it," said Marie, speaking now in English. "If he'd

-been your brother, you wouldn't have trusted him to a stranger like me,

-or you'd have come back sooner to fetch him."

-

-"Well, anyhow he's my half-brother," said Tad, "and how was I to know

-you was goin' to run off with him? You looked honest enough, and I

-thought you was so."

-

-"Does anyone here know about your bein' the boy that I—I—?"

-

-"No—only my chum, Phil Bates. He knows all about me."

-

-"Not my father and mother?"

-

-"No, no one else."

-

-"Good? Then hold your tongue about it still, and I'll make it worth

-your while," said Marie. "I love the child and he loves me, and I mean

-to bring him up as my own. Has he got a mother livin'?"

-

-"He had, seven months ago," replied Tad, "and I s'pose she ain't dead

-yet. That sort in general makes out to live," added the lad with a

-sniff of disgust.

-

-"And you—how came you here?"

-

-"That story's too long to tell," replied Tad, not over civilly, for he

-was chafed at the woman's manner, and the attitude she had assumed as

-regarded the child.

-

-"And when are you goin' away?" asked Marie.

-

-"Don't know, missis," said Tad, "and what's more I must get to my work

-now." And he turned away and joined Mother Sophie, helping her to scour

-some pots and pans down by the brookside.

-

-The foregoing conversation Tad repeated to Phil that night, adding,

-"Now you see, Phil, what I said was true. A woman like that won't part

-with the little 'un willin' and free, and I'll never get him at all

-unless I take him and French leave at one and the same time. After this

-talk as have passed betwixt me and Marie, what say you now?"

-

-"Just what I said afore, Tad. It's no use doin' wrong to bring about

-what we want to happen. Cheatin' and story-tellin' and stealin' and

-deceivin' is wicked, and sooner or later people gets paid out that does

-them things, no matter what the reason is."

-

-"There you go again!" grunted Tad.

-

-"Tad, dear, don't turn away lookin' so vexed. I want to help you; I

-will help you, if you'll let me. Let me have a talk with Marie and

-tell her your story, and how you've been hunted about just because of

-the child. I can't help thinkin' she'll be sorry for you, and let you

-have the little 'un, or what would be better, let you go with her on

-the steamer when she starts for Southampton to go back to her husband.

-Shall I tell—?"

-

-"It's no use, Phil!" cried Tad. "If you'd seen her face to-day when she

-spoke of the baby, you'd never believe she could change."

-

-"Well," persisted Phil, "s'posin' she won't listen to us, still maybe

-Father Jacques and Mother Sophie would. We did a foolish thing, Tad,

-not to say all we knowed, when we heard the old folks tellin' what

-Marie had written in her letter. If we'd spoke of it there and then,

-and they'd heard your story, they'd have been on our side now—maybe."

-

-"Well, well," said Tad impatiently, "that's bygones—that is! What's the

-use of thinkin' about it?"

-

-"If Marie don't give up the baby here, she could be made to in

-England," said Phil. "Why don't you write to your dad, as soon as we

-know when she's goin' back? Tell him she's got the child, and he'll

-take care of the rest."

-

-"How stoopid you are, Phil! That ain't all I'm after," said Tad

-crossly. "The baby ain't everything; I want to go back to England

-myself. If Dad got the baby home, he wouldn't care a straw what became

-of me; and that old cat of a stepmother of mine would be glad enough if

-nothin' was never heard of me no more. So you see I might stay here all

-my life. I must take the child myself or be here for good and all."

-

-"Well, if Marie will let you have him, that's all right," said Phil;

-"but Tad, dear, don't do nothin' you'll be sorry for after. Remember

-how you told me of such a many things you'd had to make a choice of,

-and you said you'd chose what you thought you'd like best, or what

-seemed easiest, and only see what have come of it! And it was only when

-we made up our minds not to do wrong, that God sort of opened up the

-way afore us, and got us clean away out of old Foxy's clutches. Tad,

-dear, them as tries to do the right thing God always helps, but no one

-can't expect help from Him if he does wrong."

-

-"Shut up with your preachin', Phil!" cried Tad impatiently. "If you was

-a parson and me the congregation, stuck fast in the pews, I'd be bound

-to listen; but you ain't, and I ain't, so hold your noise. The baby's

-my half-brother, not yours; he wasn't stole from you—was he? So it's

-none of your business. I'll do as I choose—I will—so there!"

-

-Tad had never before spoken harshly to his companion, and even as he

-uttered the words, his heart and conscience smote him.

-

-He saw Phil's head droop suddenly, and the thin cheek flush and pale

-again. He even thought he heard a half-suppressed sob, when the little

-fellow turned away without another word.

-

-But like Pharaoh of old, he hardened his heart, muttering, "What if he

-be hurt a bit! Sarve him right for meddlin' with what don't consarn

-him."

-

-Then he went off to his work of hobbling the horses for the night, at

-the other end of the field, and nothing more passed between him and

-Phil, nor did they see each other again till morning.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XVII

-

-AGAINST THE PRICKS

-

-SOME days passed, and meanwhile Tad's idea of running off with the

-child secretly was so much in his mind, unresisted, unchecked, that

-at last it became a distinct purpose for which he began once more to

-plot and plan. The foolishness and the utter recklessness of such a

-proceeding were lost sight of in his great desire to accomplish what

-he had at heart, namely his return to England and the restoration of

-the baby to its mother, by way of securing safety and a welcome for

-himself. The difficulties and dangers he did not take into account

-because he would not. Obstinately bent upon carrying out his idea, he

-made everything else yield; he was even prepared to part from Phil,

-rather than give up his purpose.

-

-We have seen that during the time of the worst of the troubles that

-had befallen the boys, Tad's heart had softened, his character had

-improved. But the great change by which all things are made new, had

-not yet come into the boy's soul. Self-will still ruled there, and it

-would need a yet sharper lesson ere the altar of this idol could be

-thrown down, and its sceptre broken.

-

-Since the day when Phil's remonstrance and appeal had called forth

-those cruel words from Tad, the younger boy had not ventured to mention

-the subject. But he had gone about with a heavy heart and a sad face,

-for he loved Tad dearly, and the estrangement between them hurt him

-sorely.

-

-He was anxious, too, for he could see plainly enough by the sullen,

-brooding look in Tad's face, that he had by no means relinquished

-his idea, but was only considering how best to work it out. Phil did

-not know what to do. He could not bear the thought of acting the

-tale-bearer, of going to Marie and warning her against his friend.

-Still less could he entertain the idea of saying anything to Jacques

-and Sophie. So that, between disloyalty to Tad on the one hand, and

-disloyalty to their kind friends on the other, Phil was indeed in

-straits—and very sore straits for a child of his years. He could only

-hope that the time of Marie's departure would come soon, and that

-meanwhile Tad would have no chance to carry off Baby Victor, as his

-gipsy mother called him.

-

-One morning about a week later, Marie received a letter from her

-husband, who announced his intention of coming over to fetch her. He

-said he should be sailing in a little vessel belonging to a friend, and

-he hoped to be at St. Malo shortly. He intended, he said, to spend a

-day or two with his father and mother-in-law, and then take his wife

-and the child back to England in the same boat that had brought him.

-

-"I must go to meet my husband to-night, mother," said Marie, two days

-later; "the boat is sure to be in."

-

-"I will go with thee," replied Sophie, "and thou, Jacques?"

-

-"I go too, of course," said the old man.

-

-"Wilt thou take the child, Marie?" inquired Sophie.

-

-"No, mother, I hardly think it would be well to do so. Poor Victor has

-seemed very feverish and languid these last days, and the night air

-would be bad for him. I will put him to bed before I go, and he will

-then sleep, I hope, and so will not miss me."

-

-"Pelagie will attend to him should he cry," said Sophie, "but I daresay

-he will sleep soundly till thy return."

-

-Phil did not overhear this conversation, but Tad happened to be at work

-close by, and heard every word.

-

-"This is goin' to be my chance!" he said to himself. "For once in a way

-I'm in luck, but I'll not tell Phil or he'd spoil all the fun."

-

-During the time that had gone by since first he meditated flight with

-the baby, Tad had contrived to scrape together a little money. Now

-and again, when in the town with Jacques, he had earned a sou or two,

-holding horses or carrying boxes and parcels from the wharf, or running

-errands, and the coppers he received Jacques allowed him to keep for

-himself. So that he had about a franc and twenty-five centimes, as

-nearly as possible one shilling of our money.

-

-At dinner that day he asked for more bread, and hid a big hunch away

-in his pocket. This was all the preparation that he could make for his

-journey, and blindly, obstinately, set upon his own way he must indeed

-have been, to think of undertaking it so poorly equipped. But there is

-no limit to the foolhardiness of self-will, when once it has, like a

-runaway horse, got the bit between its teeth; and so was it now with

-poor Tad's besetting sin.

-

-As evening approached, circumstances favoured the lad's design, for

-Phil was called by one of the men to accompany him to a neighbouring

-hamlet with baskets to sell, and Pelagie occupied herself with

-preparing supper contained in the usual big pot, into which she was

-shredding herbs of many kinds. For now the wild green plants were

-coming up with tender shoots, and none knew better than the gipsy woman

-which of them lent an appetising flavour to the soup.

-

-"Here, Edouard," said she to Tad, who was loafing about and watching

-his chance. "Step into Marie's waggon, will you, and look at the child.

-If he seems restless or uneasy, take him up and rock him gently in your

-arms till he is quiet. You can stay with him, for I do not need your

-help here. Go then at once; I shall be more at ease if I know you are

-with him."

-

-Tad, with an eagerness which he tried to hide, turned to obey. He

-entered the waggon where his little half-brother was fast asleep, and

-stood looking at him a moment by the light of a tiny lamp fixed into a

-brass socket on one of the walls of the cart.

-

-The little fellow's cheeks were scarlet, and through the parted lips

-the breath came in a quick, irregular way which was not natural.

-

-"Ought I to take him when he ain't quite well?" thought Tad; but once

-more his great desire conquered all conscientious scruples. "It's now

-or never," he muttered.

-

-And having made up his mind, he looked all round for some warm wrap in

-which to enfold the little fellow. Presently he saw a large, dark cloak

-of Marie's hanging from a nail. This he reached down, lifted the baby

-very cautiously, and throwing the cloak over him, even covering the

-face, he stepped out of the cart, peering round suspiciously for fear

-someone might be watching.

-

-It was already dusk, and another of the waggons stood between him and

-Pelagie, screening him from view. The rest of the troupe were scattered

-in various directions. No one was near but Pelagie, and she was

-preoccupied with her cooking.

-

-A few long, stealthy strides and Tad had reached the road. Here he

-paused a moment, looking this way and that, screened by some bushes;

-but no one was in sight.

-

-"Now for Granville and England!" he said to himself, and gathering the

-living bundle closer in his arms, he set off at a quick walk in an

-opposite direction from that which led to St. Malo. He had before him a

-long tramp, he knew, for Granville was nearly sixteen miles away.

-

-What he was to do when he got there was not very easy to determine, but

-what he hoped for was to find Jeremiah Jackson and his "Stormy Petrel,"

-and get a free passage over to Southampton. He had no idea, however,

-how often the skipper made his voyages, and therefore he knew he might

-have to wait a long time. But he had not considered how the baby and he

-were to live while thus waiting. Self-will is generally short-sighted,

-and does not take into account possible consequences, when following

-its own headlong course.

-

-The baby's weight, Tad soon found, was far greater now than it had

-been on that memorable Sunday nearly seven months ago. And the pace

-at which the runaway started to-night from the gipsy camp slowed down

-perforce after a while. By this time the night had closed in, and Tad

-was thankful for the darkness which hid this last evil deed of his.

-For now that the first excitement was over, he was beginning to feel

-that the deed was indeed evil. And as he trudged along, carrying the

-thrice-kidnapped child, he gradually realised to some extent what he

-was doing, and what a heavy price he was paying for his own way.

-

-Again before him, in the mirror of memory, rose the earnest, patient

-face of little Phil whom he had so disloyally deserted. Again he saw

-the look of pain which his own cruel words had called into those

-wistful eyes, those sensitive lips. Yes, he had lost Phil, dearly

-though they had loved each other, bitterly though they had suffered

-together. Then too, how had he requited dear old Mother Sophie and

-Father Jacques for all their kindness? Yes—they too were now among the

-losses which he had that night sustained. These true friends lost; and

-all for what?

-

-Poor Tad was obliged to confess to himself that he had precious little

-to show in exchange. True he had gratified his self-will, but so far

-the gratification was of a decidedly qualified character. He was

-growing very tired, and so hungry that he was obliged to stop and take

-out his piece of bread to munch as he went along. Then, too, the child

-had begun to wail piteously in a hoarse voice that frightened him, and

-Granville was still nine miles off.

-

-But for the demon Pride which kept whispering in his ear, the lad

-would have turned back even now to the camp; but he told himself that

-he could not bear to return to his friends confessing himself in the

-wrong. No, he felt he must go on now, having, by this last act of his,

-cut himself adrift from all who had befriended him.

-

-All night Tad walked on, but in the morning he got a lift in a light

-cart that was going in to an early market at Granville. Worn and jaded

-and utterly disheartened, he and his now slumbering charge were driven

-into the town.

-

-"The brat is a-goin' to be ill, I do believe," said Tad, peering down

-into the little flushed face lying against his shoulder. "Just like my

-luck!"

-

-"Had you not better take him to a doctor?" said the driver of the cart.

-"There is one living in this street, and he is very kind to the poor;

-he is sure not to charge you anything."

-

-"Thank you; then I will," replied Tad.

-

-And the man set him down at the doctor's door. Early as was the hour,

-quite a number of people were waiting to see the doctor, so it was some

-time before Tad's turn came. But it came at last, and the baby was

-unwrapped and examined.

-

-"Monsieur the doctor," said Tad, "will you please tell me if the child

-will be all right directly, for I want to take him to England very

-soon."

-

-The doctor looked up incredulously.

-

-"To England?" he repeated. "No indeed, my boy, he must go no further

-than Granville Hospital. I tell you the little one is very ill; he has

-got inflammation of the lungs, and you may be very thankful if he pulls

-through at all!"

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XVIII

-

-JEREMIAH TO THE RESCUE

-

-"THEN all that I've done is wuss than lost," said Tad to himself as

-he walked slowly away from the hospital where he had left his little

-brother. "I've run away on the sly and walked all night; I've carried

-off a sick child as can't be no good to me; I've broke with Phil and

-with the gipsies; and all for what? To stay here and starve in the

-streets while maybe the child dies in the hospital, and if he do die,

-why then good-bye to any home-goin' at all. Just my luck I can't seem

-to compass nothing at all, I can't."

-

-That night he slept under an old boat which was turned on its side

-awaiting repairs on the shore, above high-water mark. A more unhappy

-lad it would have been hard to find under God's great canopy of sky

-than Tad when he awoke next morning, cold, hungry, with a remorseful

-conscience and an anxious heart. After buying a small loaf of bread

-which was to last him all day, he walked down to the quay, which he had

-good cause to remember, for it was here he had first met Renard. But

-the thought of old Foxy was not uppermost in his mind as he sauntered

-round, looking idly about him at the varied shipping, and at the busy

-crowd loading and unloading the vessels. His wretched experiences

-with his late master seemed to him now something very remote, almost

-forgotten in the nearness of his more recent troubles.

-

-So much absorbed was Tad in his own miserable reflections, and the

-utter collapse of every plan he had made, that he started like one

-awakened out of sleep, when a long, claw-like hand grasped his arm,

-and a well-known, hateful voice said almost in his ear, "Ah, bon jour,

-mine dear cheeile! So I you have found at de last!" And a grin of evil

-triumph made even uglier and more repulsive than ever Renard's wicked

-face. Tad started as though from some noxious reptile. All the memories

-of his sufferings and those of Phil at the hands of this man rushed

-upon him with overwhelming force, and he gazed into Renard's green

-eyes, fascinated and speechless.

-

-"Ah, ma foi!" chuckled Foxy. "Only to tink! Dis dear boy is so please

-to see his old master, dat he find not word to speak."

-

-"It's a lie! I ain't pleased!" cried Tad, finding voice at last. "You

-know very well I'm nothin' of the kind. I hate you, that I do! Let me

-go!" And he tried to wrench his arm from old Foxy's clutch.

-

-"Oh fie! Fie! Wat naughty tempers have dis dear cheeile!" sighed Renard

-as he tightened his hold. "Come wid me, mine friend; you shall once

-again be educate in de college of Monsieur Renard. Widout doubt your

-jours de fête—wat you call holiday—find demselves too long. Now you

-weel work."

-

-And old Foxy began to drag his unwilling prisoner along, trying to get

-him away from the quay and into the town.

-

-Tad did what he could to free himself from the man's hold, but all to

-no purpose. As well might a fly try to win clear when a spider has hold

-of him.

-

-The people they met took no heed of him. It was nothing uncommon to see

-a struggle or even a fight going on here, and nobody interfered; so Tad

-was almost in despair, when suddenly he caught sight of something that

-gave him energy and courage.

-

-There, standing on the deck of a trim little vessel drawn close

-up to the quay, was a burly form surmounted by a bluff; honest,

-weather-beaten face and a shaggy mass of red hair and beard.

-

-"Oh, Captain Jackson!" shrieked the lad. "Save me! Save me! Foxy's got

-me again!" And he stretched out his one free arm in passionate entreaty.

-

-The worthy Jeremiah leaped on shore and met Renard face to face.

-"What's up?" said he. "What's the matter?"

-

-"De matter, Monsieur Jeremie," replied Renard in honeyed tones, "is dat

-dis poor boy did run away from his kind master, and now he come back,

-and all weel be well again."

-

-"Never, never!" cried Tad. "Don't believe him, please, captain! He's

-the awfullest liar that ever was. Please, sir, look at me; don't you

-call to mind a boy you picked up in a open boat at sea, and how good

-you was to me? You wanted me to go back with you to England, and I'd

-near made up my mind to it, when old Foxy here come down with Phil

-Bates, and coaxed me into goin' along of him. And after that, me and my

-chum was starved and beaten and ill-treated, and at last, roust of all,

-we—"

-

-"Weel you be quaite, Edouard?" hissed Renard, giving the boy's arm a

-violent jerk. "If you hold not your peace," he added in a whisper, "I

-weel keel you."

-

-"I remember you very well, Teddie Poole," said Jeremiah. "So you don't

-want to return to the man's service, eh?"

-

-"No, sir, no indeed!" cried Tad. "Save me from him! Do save me,

-captain!"

-

-The bluff, good-humoured face looked very grave and stern as Jeremiah

-Jackson turned once more to Renard.

-

-"Unhand that lad, Renard!" he said.

-

-"Ma foi! And why, Monsieur Jeremie?" inquired Foxy. "You have not de

-right to say, 'Do dis and dat.'"

-

-"It's no use bullyin' and blusterin', you parley-vooin' scoundrel!"

-said Jackson stoutly. "Unhand that lad, or I'll tell the world here

-what I know. If once all Granville heard that you—"

-

-"Enough! Hush, oh hush, Monsieur Jeremie, mine good, dear friend!"

-whispered Renard, looking round furtively to see if Jackson's rather

-too plain speaking had been overheard. "It is one leetle joke; say

-notting more. I am only delight to do you oblige, and if you desire

-dat I let go dis cheeile, behold I cede heem widout unpleasant. Good

-morning, Edouard; bon jour to you too, Monsieur Jeremie."

-

-And loosening his hold on Tad, the Frenchman bowed low, cap in hand,

-and shuffled off towards the town.

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XIX

-

-FAITHFUL PHIL

-

-"COME you down into my cabin and tell me what's happened since you

-bolted from the 'Stormy Petrel' with that sneakin' rascal." And the

-honest sailor shook his huge fist at the retreating form of old Renard.

-

-Then Tad followed the skipper into the tiny cabin, and there over

-a good breakfast told his story; told it exactly as things had

-happened—the whole truth without reserve. It was a relief now to

-disburden his heavy heart of what was oppressing him so sorely, and to

-ask for the advice and help of which he stood so urgently in need.

-

-"You want to know what I think you'd best do?" asked Jeremiah as Tad

-finished his narrative.

-

-"Yes, sir, and whatever you says now, I promise to do it," replied poor

-Tad. "All along I've been tryin' to choose and to get what I liked

-best, and I've done nothin' but kick agen pricks, just as you said to

-me. You see, I haven't forgot, sir."

-

-"Well, Teddie Poole, things bein' as they are, and you in a pretty bad

-fix, my counsel to you is to send word by letter to the woman you call

-Marie that the kid is in hospital here, and also to write to your chum

-Phil as how you're sorry and all that, for what you done. And then—"

-

-"Please, is this boat the 'Stormy Petrel,' and is Captain Jeremiah

-Jackson here?" called a sweet boyish voice down the companion way.

-

-"Why, if that ain't Phil hisself!" cried Tad. "I'd know his voice in

-a thousand!" And jumping from his seat, he scrambled up on deck, and

-rushed straight into Phil's arms.

-

-"Oh Phil, dear Phil, is it really you? And can you ever forgive me—me

-that have been so bad?" whispered Tad brokenly.

-

-"Hush, dear old man; I know the temptation was a big one to you, and

-what you done's all forgiven—be sure of that."

-

-"But how did you find me?" inquired Tad.

-

-"Oh, I knowed what you'd always thought of doin'," answered Phil, "and

-so we come straight here to Granville in one of the house-waggons, and

-I ran down to the quay to see if I could find the 'Stormy Petrel,'

-feelin' sure you'd make for her if she was in port. But Tad," continued

-Phil, "where's baby Victor? Is he down in the cabin? Marie's here, half

-mad at losin' him."

-

-Tad's face fell.

-

-"He's very ill, Phil; he's had to be took to the hospital; his chest is

-awful bad, I'm afeared."

-

-At this Phil turned away from his friend, and stepped off the boat on

-to the quay to tell Marie this sad news, for she was standing there

-waiting to hear about the child. The tears welled up in her dark eyes

-as Phil spoke, but she said nothing, only glancing reproachfully

-towards Tad ere she turned and went into the town, bending her steps

-towards the hospital where the little one was lying.

-

-While Tad stood sadly watching her out of sight, he presently saw

-coming slowly along by the water side good old Mother Sophie. Leaping

-on shore, he ran to meet her.

-

-"Dear Mother Sophie," he cried, "I have been the most wicked, thankless

-boy that ever lived, to leave you as I did, after all your goodness.

-But I am sorry, and oh, I—"

-

-"If you are sorry for having made us so anxious, child, I pardon you.

-But tell me, Edouard, where is baby Victor?"

-

-"He is in the hospital, and his life is in danger I fear, dear mother."

-

-"My poor Marie!" sighed the old woman. "She loves Victor so well, and

-her heart would break were he to die. It will be hard enough anyway to

-part from him, even if he gets well."

-

-Tad turned in amazement to Phil, who had followed him as he went to

-meet Mother Sophie.

-

-"Part from him—if he gets well?" said he. "What does that mean, Phil?"

-

-"Only that I have told Marie, and Father Jacques, and Mother Sophie the

-whole story," replied Phil, "so now they all know the truth about you

-and baby. Marie didn't want to give up the child, if once she managed

-to get him back from you, but her parents wouldn't hear of her keepin'

-him, after what I'd told them, so if he gets better, you and he and

-Marie 'll go back to England together if you like."

-

-Tad was silent for a minute.

-

-"Then maybe if I'd told the whole truth to the good people at the

-beginning, as you begged me to, Phil," he said at last, "I might have

-got my way without runnin' off with the child at all, and p'raps he

-wouldn't have been so ill neither."

-

-Phil made no answer to this. What indeed could he say?

-

-But Tad went on, "I say, Phil, what a fool I've been for my pains!

-Captain Jackson was right about kickin' agen the pricks, for here I've

-took lots of trouble to go crooked, just to find myself wuss off than

-if I'd gone straight, to say nothin' of makin' no end of bother for

-others."

-

-"But now, Edouard," put in Mother Sophie, who understood no English,

-and had no idea what Tad was talking about, "now, Edouard, what do you

-intend to do? Will you return with your friend the captain this voyage,

-or—"

-

-"No, no, dear Mother Sophie," answered Tad, "I will not go until baby

-is better and can go too. You know I couldn't go home without him."

-

-"Here you, Teddie Poole!" called Jeremiah from the deck of his

-schooner. "I want to speak to you!"

-

-And Tad ran back quickly.

-

-"Will you go home with us in a few days' time, boy?" inquired the

-captain. "Or would you rather wait till I come again? I expect to be

-back here in about three weeks, if all be well, and I'll take you and

-your friends over then if you like. No, don't thank me, my lad!" he

-added, as Tad gratefully accepted his second offer. "No need for more

-words about it. It's only my dooty as a man and a Christian, and it's a

-pleasure into the bargain. And, praise the Lord, the boat's my own, and

-I've no one's leave to ask."

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XX

-

-THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER

-

-THE days passed, and Marie returned from her daily visits to the

-hospital, bringing no better reports.

-

-"But for that long night of exposure to the cold, damp air, baby Victor

-would never have been so ill," she had said reproachfully to Tad; "and

-now, through you and your headstrong folly, this precious little life

-will most likely be lost. You do not deserve to have a brother."

-

-Tad did not resent Marie's hard words. He knew he merited them richly,

-and he did not attempt to excuse or defend himself. Truly repentant and

-humble as he had become, he could not undo the grievous consequences of

-his sin. So he meekly listened to the woman's reproaches, which he felt

-came from a very sore heart, and were none the less sharp and bitter

-for that.

-

-At last there came a time when the doctors said that the little one's

-life hung, as it were, on a thread, and there was hardly a chance that

-he could recover. And when poor Marie brought back this news, Tad felt

-that now his cup of misery and of punishment was full indeed.

-

-If the child died, he would feel, all his life long, like a murderer,

-and go through the world as with the brand of Cain upon his brow.

-

-Towards evening of that day, Phil found him sitting in an

-out-of-the-way corner, quite overwhelmed with trouble.

-

-"I can't bear it, Phil!" he sobbed. "For baby to be took and me left is

-too dreadful; me, too, that nobody cares for and nobody wants!"

-

-For all answer Phil nestled close to his friend, and passed a loving

-arm round his neck. He felt that such trouble as this could not be

-comforted by mere words, but he also felt that for every burdened heart

-comfort might be found where he—Phil—had often found it before during

-his sad young life.

-

-The place where the lads were sitting was quiet and solitary enough,

-and the darkness was fast stealing on, softly shadowing earth and sky.

-

-By his friend's side Phil knelt, still with an arm round Tad's neck,

-and then the boy's tender sympathy and loving pity found a voice in

-fervent prayer to Him Who on earth healed the sick with a word or a

-touch, and raised the dead, and forgave the sins of those who had gone

-astray.

-

-For the little life now trembling in the balance, Phil wrestled with

-cries and tears. For forgiveness for the past, for help in time to

-come, for strength to do the right whatever might happen—the childish

-voice, broken by sobs, rose in passionate supplication, thrilling

-Tad's heart through and through with the consciousness of some unseen

-Presence, and bringing back to his memory words long forgotten,

-"'Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not.'"

-

-With hands close clasped, and streaming eyes lifted towards the sky,

-the awe-struck lad gazed and gazed, half fearing to see, half expecting

-some visible sign to appear in the dark heavens above him, in answer to

-that urgent cry for help.

-

-Once more the sweet, plaintive voice broke, sending forth sobbingly the

-words, so touching in their simplicity,—

-

-   "Dear Lord, Thou knows all we want to say and can't. Do it for us; Thou

- can, and Thou art willin', that we know, cos Thou said so. Send us a

- answer of peace, for Thy own sake, Amen."

-

-Then there was silence; both boys felt that the place whereon they

-knelt was holy ground, and neither could bear to break the solemn hush.

-Hand in hand, and nearer in heart than they had ever been before, the

-lads went back to the cart.

-

-The matron of the children's ward in the hospital at Granville, seeing

-Marie's great anxiety, had allowed her to have access to the child

-whenever she liked. And when the boys returned to the house-waggon,

-they found that she had not yet got back from her evening visit.

-

-In almost unbearable suspense they sat there on the short turf, waiting

-for the news which they so dreaded and yet longed for. Not a word had

-been spoken between them as yet. Tad was seated leaning eagerly forward

-to catch the first glimpse of Marie on her way home. Phil lay at full

-length, as though exhausted, his pale face upturned, his eyes closed.

-Suddenly he sat up, his eyes radiant in the moonlight, a smile upon his

-lips.

-

-"He heard us, Tad! He heard us!" whispered the boy. "It's all right!

-Hark! There she comes!"

-

-Tad listened, and heard a light, quick step speeding along, joyful

-relief in every footfall. II was Marie returning. Both lads sprang to

-their feet, and ran to meet her.

-

-"All is well, thank God!" cried the woman as she saw them. "The doctors

-say he will live."

-

-And she passed on to the van to awaken her mother with the joyful

-tidings, while the boys, left together, crept away, and from glad

-hearts sent up to heaven the voice of praise and thanksgiving.

-

-With the young, recovery is often a very rapid thing, and that of

-Marie's adopted child was no exception to this rule.

-

-By the time the "Stormy Petrel" returned to Granville, the little one

-was well enough to be out for hours in the warm, bright sun, and to

-bear the voyage home.

-

-Jacques and Sophie would have been glad to keep Phil with them always,

-for he had greatly endeared himself to them by his unselfishness and

-gentle ways. But Tad and he could not bear to be parted, and Jeremiah

-Jackson had held out a hope to the boys that he might give them both

-a berth on board of his vessel, if they found, on their return to

-England, that they could find nothing better to do.

-

-So one lovely afternoon, in full spring, Marie and the baby, Tad, and

-Phil, took leave of the kind gipsies, and going on board the trim

-little schooner, glided out into the crimson sunset, with a fair wind

-and all sail set.

-

-Marie's husband had gone back to England two weeks before, being unable

-to wait till the baby was well enough to travel. A letter had been

-written to James Poole, and sent to the address of Tad's former home,

-whence it had been forwarded to the new house, near Southampton, to

-which the Pooles had recently moved. To this letter Tad's father had

-sent a kind reply, promising to meet the voyagers on arrival.

-

-Marie had at first intended herself to take the baby to his home,

-accompanying Tad thither. But on learning that James Poole was to

-meet his children, and remembering, too, that in stealing the baby on

-that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday evening, all those months ago, she

-had exposed herself to a serious risk, and indeed to the certainty of

-punishment by English law, she thought she had better not show herself

-at all to the child's father, but find her way to her husband's people

-as quickly as possible.

-

-Of the parting between Marie and her adopted child we need not

-say much, but sad as it was, she went through it with courage and

-determination.

-

-James Poole, as was expected, met the voyagers at Southampton, and Tad

-was surprised to see how much softened and how gentle his father's face

-and manner had become. When Tad introduced Phil, James Poole greeted

-the boy very kindly, and cordially invited him home.

-

-The Pooles had a nice roomy cottage just out of town, and on the way

-there, Tad's father told him that Mrs. Poole had been a great invalid

-for four months and more, and quite unable to do any work about the

-house, so that life had been very hard for all. He said that Nell and

-Bert were well, and good children on the whole, but running rather

-wild for want of looking after, and that Mr. Scales the grocer, Tad's

-former employer, had quite recently written to inquire after his late

-shop-boy, saying that since Tad left, he had been unable to find a lad

-to suit him.

-

-On reaching home, it was a sad sight to see Mrs. Poole lying on a couch

-quite helpless, dependent upon an old woman who came every morning to

-do the work of the house. But on seeing her baby boy and receiving him

-into her arms again, the poor mother was so full of joy and content and

-thankfulness, that the look of suffering passed from her face, and Tad

-thought he should not be surprised if she got well after all.

-

-In the general rejoicing, no one thought of scolding or blaming the

-runaway lad, and all listened eagerly while he told his adventures.

-

-Phil too was made much of, and when, in relating his story, Tad told

-also not sparing nor excusing himself—how Phil had been his good angel,

-his loving, faithful friend, ever since they had first met, there

-was not a dry eye in all that little company. And James Poole wrung

-the little slender hand in his strong palm, Nell and Bert hugged him

-round the neck, and Mrs. Poole patted his head and called him a dear

-good lad, till he felt quite shy, for he had never been used to much

-kindness or attention.

-

-Presently, when the little ones had gone to bed, Mrs. Poole asked Tad

-to come and sit down by her, and when he did so, she said:

-

-"Tad, dear, God has taught me a many lessons since you left home all

-them months ago. First there was losin' my baby, and afterwards this

-illness that came of a fall. But Tad, it wasn't until I began to miss

-my little one, that I called to mind how you and Nell and Bert had

-never ceased to miss your mother, and how I never so much as tried to

-fill her place. And it wasn't till I was laid aside, and needed to have

-people tender and patient with me, that I remembered I'd never been

-tender and patient with the poor chil'en I was stepmother to. But now,

-dear boy, you've come home again, and me and your father we'll both try

-and make it real home to you, so as it shan't never no more come into

-your head and heart to run away. Kiss me, Tad, and call me mother, for

-that's what—God helpin' me—I mean to be to you always."

-

-

-And now we can say good-bye to Tad the kidnapper, feeling quite sure

-that never again will he deserve this name.

-

-How he went back to his duties at the grocer's shop, living in Mr.

-Scales' house all the week, and returning home for Sunday; how he

-gradually rose in his employer's confidence to a position of trust and

-of usefulness; how Phil, after a short sojourn with the Pooles, began

-to pine for something to do, and accepted Jeremiah Jackson's offer of

-a berth as cabin boy aboard the "Stormy Petrel"; how Marie, by special

-invitation, came every now and then to see baby Victor, (as she still

-called him); and how God sent her at last a little baby boy of her very

-own to comfort her heart; all this we need only just mention, for our

-story has been told to show that the getting of our own way does not

-always mean happiness or prosperity.

-

-And since poor Tad Poole had learned this lesson, perhaps we who have

-followed him step by step in his adventurous career have learned it too.

-

-

-

-Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO., Edinburgh

-

-

-

-

-

-*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74793 ***

+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74793 ***
+
+Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
+
+[Illustration: "BOAT AHOY! WAKE UP THERE!"]
+
+
+
+                         WHAT HAPPENED
+
+                             TO TAD
+
+
+                               BY
+
+                         MARY E. ROPES
+
+          _Author of "Karl Jansen's Find," "Caroline Street,"
+                     "Two Brave Boys," etc., etc._
+
+
+
+                             LONDON
+                   THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
+       4 Bouverie Street and 65 St. Paul's Churchyard E.C.
+
+
+
+                            CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER
+
+     I. VERY HARD LINES
+
+    II. PLANNING REVENGE
+
+   III. GONE
+
+    IV. ANOTHER STEP DOWN
+
+     V. DRIVEN FORTH
+
+    VI. AFLOAT
+
+   VII. JEREMIAH JACKSON
+
+  VIII. FOXY AND PHIL
+
+    IX. A SLAVE INDEED
+
+     X. WEAK YET SO STRONG
+
+    XI. GOOD-BYE TO FOXY
+
+   XII. A FRIEND AND AN ENEMY
+
+  XIII. UNEXPECTED NEWS
+
+   XIV. OLD MEMORIES AND A NEW IDEA
+
+    XV. TURNING THE TABLES
+
+   XVI. TAD HARDENS HIS HEART
+
+  XVII. AGAINST THE PRICKS
+
+ XVIII. JEREMIAH TO THE RESCUE
+
+   XIX. FAITHFUL PHIL
+
+    XX. THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER
+
+
+
+                     WHAT HAPPENED TO TAD
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+VERY HARD LINES
+
+"NOW look here, boy! I ain't a-goin' to have no more words about it.
+Your mother must—"
+
+"She ain't my mother, nor I'll never call her so, never! Not if I live
+a hundred year; so don't try to make me, dad."
+
+"Well, I dare say it won't matter such a great deal to your stepmother
+what you call her, so long as you do what you're told, Tad. But please
+to understand, my lad, that if you kick up a rumpus here, and make
+things unpleasant for my wife, you'll hear of it again from me, as sure
+as my name's James Poole."
+
+"But, dad," pursued the boy, "she ain't kind to the children, leastways
+only to her own kid. She beats poor little Bert, and boxes Nell's ears
+for the least thing."
+
+"Tiresome spoilt brats! Serve 'em right!" retorted the man. "But
+anyhow, Tad, it ain't your business. You may as well understand, once
+for all, that I mean she shall be missis here, and manage the home
+her own way. Now go along, will you! I've no more time to waste on
+tale-tellin' and grumblin'."
+
+"It's wicked! It's a shame!" muttered Teddie Poole (or Tadpole as his
+friends had nicknamed him). "This has got to end somehow!"
+
+But his father only growled under his breath, caught up his cap, and
+left the house.
+
+"Yes, it's too bad; everything's against me and them two poor chil'en.
+Dad's number two—she don't care for 'em one little bit, though nothin's
+too good for that great, thumpin', squealin' baby of hers. I'd take
+Bert and Nell right off somewheres, only I couldn't keep 'em and look
+after 'em—poor mites!"
+
+Then with a heavy heart, Tad betook himself to his work. It was not
+much of a place that the boy had got. He was only a grocer's lad at
+four shillings a week, but it was better than nothing, and he did his
+work willingly enough, though he was often footsore and weary with
+running or standing about from morning till night.
+
+There was a great deal of good in poor Tad. When his own mother died,
+he tried to take care of his little brother and sister, and often
+denied himself for their sake.
+
+But when at last James Poole married again, the boy bitterly resented
+his stepmother's harsh ways with her husband's children. And since her
+own baby's birth, things at home had been worse than ever. She grudged
+to Bert and Nell every moment of time that she was obliged to give
+them, and even the very food they ate. She had no sympathy for their
+childish troubles, no tender words or caresses for anyone but her own
+baby boy; while towards Tad, who had from the first made no secret of
+his feelings, she showed in return a dislike which had something almost
+malignant about it.
+
+Several times the lad had complained to his father, but his words had
+produced no effect except still more to enrage his stepmother against
+him. And now Tad had made another appeal, and had once again failed.
+
+All day long, he turned the matter over in his mind as he ran his
+errands or helped his master, Mr. Scales, to make up parcels in the
+shop. Life at home was becoming unbearable—impossible—he told himself.
+What was to be done?
+
+Once the grocer glanced at him with a comical, puzzled smile on his
+fat, good-natured face, but Tad never looked up, and presently his
+master said:
+
+"Before you put them little packets up in brown paper, Teddie, just see
+if they are all right, will you?"
+
+The lad obeyed, but as he began to look through his packets of grocery,
+he flushed hotly.
+
+"I can't think how I could have been so stupid, sir," he said
+penitently; "why, here's sugar and salt got mixed somehow, and the
+bacon rashers has gone and wrapped theirselves up with the yaller
+soap. Oh my! And a pound of taller dips is broke loose all among the
+currants, till they looks just like the hats of them 'ketch-'em-alive'
+fellers. Oh, sir, I'm awful sorry."
+
+The round face of Mr. Scales expanded into a grin of genuine amusement.
+
+"It isn't often you make such mistakes, my boy," he said kindly, "so
+I must forgive you this time. But it seems to me, Tad, that you've
+something on your mind."
+
+"Yes, sir, that's just it," answered Tad.
+
+"Is it anything I can help you in?"
+
+"No, sir, thank you, no one can't help me," replied the boy gloomily.
+
+"Ah well, you think so now, but perhaps things will mend in a day or
+two, and then you'll feel more hopeful."
+
+Tad shook his head, but did not reply. He tried, however, to put his
+troubles out of his mind for the present, and to give his undivided
+attention to his work, so as to make no more mistakes. He did not
+reach home that evening until eight, and his father and stepmother
+were sitting at table. Bert, half undressed, was sobbing in a corner,
+his face to the wall, and little Nell was wailing in her cot upstairs,
+having been put to bed supperless for some childish offence.
+
+"Late again, Tad!" exclaimed Mrs. Poole crossly. "Why can't you be home
+in good time?"
+
+"Mr. Scales kept me a bit later than common," replied Tad; "we was very
+busy."
+
+"I don't believe that's anything but a excuse," retorted the woman.
+"It's a deal more likely as how you've been playin' round with them
+rude street boys that you learns your pretty manners from."
+
+Tad flushed scarlet with rage.
+
+"I came straight home," said he; "I ran all the way to try and get back
+quick. I don't tell lies, and I think you ought to believe me."
+
+"Hark at that, now! Jim, just do hark at that! Ought to, forsooth!
+Ain't there any other thing, if you please, that I ought to do?"
+
+"Yes," shouted Tad, beside himself with passion—"lots of 'em!"
+
+"Shut up, will you?" roared James Poole, bringing his heavy fist down
+upon the table. "Am I never to have a minute's peace at home?"
+
+"'Tain't my fault, dad," said the boy; "I ain't gone and done nothin'."
+
+"No, everybody knows you never do nothin'," sneered his stepmother.
+"You're just one of they poor critturs that's put upon all the time by
+other folks, when you're as innercent as a angel."
+
+Tad got up and pushed his plate away without having touched a mouthful.
+
+"I can't eat, dad," he said to his father, "a bite or a sup would choke
+me."
+
+James Poole made no reply, but his wife laughed and said:
+
+"So much the better! All the more left for us!"
+
+"Bein' Saturday," said Tad, coming round to his father's side, "Mr.
+Scales paid me as usual. Here's the money for you, dad!" and he put
+down four shillings on the table.
+
+"Give it to your mother, Tad, she does the providin'."
+
+But Tad did not obey.
+
+"Give that there money to me, do you hear?" cried Mrs. Poole.
+
+But Tad appeared to take no notice of her.
+
+"Won't you have the tin, father?" he said.
+
+"No, my boy; I know I've took your wages till now, but I find your
+mother—your stepmother—likes to have it herself, and it's all the same
+to me."
+
+Tad did not even glance at Mrs. Poole, but deliberately gathered up the
+coins and pocketed them, saying:
+
+"Then, since you don't want my earnin's, dad, I'll keep 'em, for from
+to-day I'm a-goin' to feed myself."
+
+And not waiting to hear any more, he went upstairs to his little garret
+room, and bolted himself in to brood over his wrongs, and think out
+some way of escape from the influences of a home that had grown so
+hateful.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+PLANNING REVENGE
+
+NO sleep did Tad get that night, tired though he was. He was thinking
+so hard that he could not close his eyes. Things had come to a climax
+at last, and something must be done. His stepmother and he hated each
+other cordially, and his efforts to stand up for the children only made
+matters worse both for himself and them.
+
+There were only two courses open to Tad now, and to one of these he
+must commit himself on the following day. Either he must eat humble
+pie, submit his will entirely to his stepmother, and have no choice
+of his own in anything, or he must go quite away, away as far as he
+could—and try to shift for himself.
+
+The thought of remaining at home, to be sneered at, and scolded, and
+abused by Mrs. Poole, was intolerable. The idea of submitting to her,
+and thus acknowledging her authority, he put from him as altogether too
+bitter a pill to be swallowed. There remained, then, only the other
+alternative, and that was to cut adrift from all his belongings, and go
+away.
+
+The thing that troubled him most about this plan, next to leaving
+little Bert and Nell, was that he knew it would be nothing but a
+delight to Mrs. Poole to get rid of him, and he could not bear to give
+her pleasure even by carrying out this plan of his own.
+
+"I'd like oncommon to punish her—punish her well!" said the boy to
+himself, as he tossed uneasily on his bed and stared before him into
+the darkness. "I'd like to make her real unhappy as she's always makin'
+us. Go away I'm bound to, but I must do something beside as 'll make
+her laugh t'other side of her mouth."
+
+For some moments Tad thought intently. At last, with a sudden bound, he
+found himself, in his excitement, standing in the middle of the floor.
+
+"I have it!" he chuckled. "I know what I'm a-goin' to do! That's
+fine!"
+
+And again he laughed to himself—a hard laugh that told a sad tale of its
+own, and showed what a terrible power, even over the soft young heart of
+early youth, have the stony influences of injustice and cruelty.
+
+
+With the first dawn of Sunday morning, Tad rose and dressed himself
+noiselessly. Into an old satchel-basket, that his master had given
+him, he packed his clothes and his one spare pair of boots. His brush
+and comb, and a very few other little matters, were added, and then he
+covered all neatly with a sheet of newspaper, after which he put the
+basket away in the cupboard till he should want it.
+
+Tad knew his stepmother's Sunday habits and customs, and quite hoped
+that he should presently have a chance to carry out the plans for
+his own escape and for the accomplishing of the revenge which he had
+promised himself.
+
+The boy had eaten no supper, and had passed a sleepless night, and he
+began to feel sick and faint by the time his little preparations were
+completed, so that he was glad to lie down again.
+
+About seven o'clock he heard his father's voice calling him, and he
+jumped up and ran out of his room.
+
+"Come and dress the children, Tad," said James Poole; "your stepmother
+have got a headache, and means to stay quiet till near dinner time."
+
+Tad smiled, well pleased. He knew that this was the usual Sunday
+headache, which needed a long sleep and a plentiful dinner for its
+cure, and he had reckoned upon it as a most important part of his
+plans. He dressed Bert and Nell, and then the baby. But this last was
+not an easy thing to do, for the child wriggled and squirmed like an
+eel.
+
+Meanwhile James Poole lighted the fire and got breakfast ready, and
+presently all sat down but Tad.
+
+"Come and have your breakfast, lad," said his father.
+
+"No thank you, dad," replied the boy.
+
+"And why not?"
+
+"You heard what she said to me last night, dad, didn't you? After that
+and what I answered her, I ain't goin' to eat nothin' more of her
+providin'."
+
+And Tad's face burned at the remembrance of the insulting words that
+had brought him to this resolution. His heart was hot within him as
+with a smouldering fire, while he said to himself, "Ah well—my turn's
+comin'."
+
+"Don't be such a fool, Tad," said his father; "here, take your tea, and
+I'll cut you some bread and butter."
+
+Tad was just longing for some food. He had not eaten a mouthful since
+an early tea in Mr. Scales' little back parlour the day before. But
+it was not for nothing that Mrs. Poole had often called him "the most
+obstinatious little beast of a boy" she'd ever seen. And since he had
+made up his mind not to eat again at his father's table, he stuck to
+his resolution, rash and foolish as it was.
+
+"No, dad, no," he said. "I'll make shift to get a bite somewheres or
+other later on, but I ain't goin' to unsay what I said last night—not
+for no one."
+
+"You forget it's Sunday, lad, you can't buy any food," said James
+Poole; "and besides, though you may be able to starve for a day, you
+can't keep on doin' of it, so that sooner or later you're bound to
+break your resolution. Now don't be an obstinate mule, but eat your
+breakfast, or you'll be makin' yourself ill."
+
+"I don't care," said Tad, feeling very wretched in mind and body.
+
+Not to be shaken in his purpose, he set the baby on his father's knee,
+and went to his room.
+
+There, seeing his overcoat hanging up on a nail on the door, he
+recalled to mind that, two days before, his master had given him some
+broken biscuits that had remained behind after the whole ones were
+sold. He had put them into the pocket of his light overcoat, just as he
+was leaving the shop, and had not once thought of them till now. Very
+thankful to be able to appease his ravenous hunger, the lad sat down
+and ate up the biscuits to the very last crumb, washing down the dry,
+stale morsels with a drink of water from his jug.
+
+Then feeling much better for his meal, he went downstairs again,
+cleared the breakfast table, and washed the crockery and spoons,
+afterwards making up the fire and tidying the kitchen, all of this
+being his accustomed Sunday work.
+
+When all was in order, he dressed Bert and Nell for morning Sunday
+School, and took them there, returning home quickly, for he knew he
+should be called upon to mind the baby, and take him out; and this—for
+reasons of his own—he did not mind doing to-day.
+
+An hour later, while James Poole sat reading his paper and smoking
+a pipe in the chimney corner, and while great, fat, lazy Mrs. Poole
+turned in bed and commenced another nap to the accompaniment of some
+terrific snores, Tadpole slipped away with the baby in his arms, and
+the basket strapped to his waist.
+
+He did not care to say good-bye to his father; had not James Poole
+taken his wife's part when she was cruel and unjust? As for Bert and
+Nell, Tad had given each of them a tearful embrace as he left them at
+the school door—a long, loving kiss that would have set them wondering
+and asking questions, had they been just a little older. But as it was,
+they did not notice the difference in their brother's manner.
+
+"Now comes my revenge!" muttered the lad. "My one bit of pleasure in
+all this bad business. Oh, Mrs. P., you shall have a few jolly hours
+to-day, if I can manage it for you."
+
+And with a vindictive light in his eyes, Tad walked away, on and on,
+till he left the town behind him, and came out into a country road
+between hedges, with a meadow on one side, and a copse and plantation
+on the other. Finding at last a gate to the meadow, he climbed over it,
+nearly dropping the child in his scramble. Once over, he went further
+into the field to be out of sight of anyone passing on the road, for he
+had no wish, just as his little plan promised success, to be taken up
+as a trespasser.
+
+For some time he walked about with the child, till at last the little
+fellow fell asleep. Then Tad laid him in a soft, sheltered place under
+a tree, and spread a shawl, kept up by the handle of the basket, to
+keep off the wind and the sun. Then he stood looking at the baby with a
+malicious grin on his lips.
+
+"It's all right so far," said he to himself. "When dinner time comes,
+and no me nor no baby turns up, Mrs. P. will begin to have the lovely
+time I've been wishin' her; and when I think she's had about enough of
+it, I'll carry baby back, and leave him on the doorstep, or somewheres
+handy, and then off I goes on my travels, like a prince in one of them
+fairy tales."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+GONE
+
+THE baby awoke after awhile, and cried a little, but Tad was too good
+and experienced a nurse not to have anticipated and arranged for what
+the child would want. He quickly produced from the basket the little
+one's feeding-bottle and some milk, and very soon the baby, quite
+satisfied and happy, was creeping about on the grass and playing with
+some flowers that Tad found for him. And when he wearied of this, the
+boy rocked him to sleep again in his arms.
+
+Then, wearied by his own sleepless night, he lay down beside the
+child for a much-needed nap. His last feeling, before dropping into
+dreamland, being one of grim rejoicing in the recollection that his
+stepmother must already be in a "fine taking,"—as he would have
+expressed it,—about her baby. Tad had made up his mind not to carry
+the child back until dark, "for fear," he said to himself, "of being
+nabbed." But already it was afternoon, and in these autumn days the
+darkness came early.
+
+When Tad awoke from a sound sleep of several hours, the twilight was
+creeping over earth and sky. The quiet rest had much refreshed him, and
+baby too had waked up in a happy mood, and looked so much less like his
+mother than usual, that Tad felt fonder of the poor little fellow than
+ever before, and even kissed his little round face when he picked him
+up.
+
+Carrying the basket on his arm, and the baby over his shoulder, Tad
+walked across the meadow, and came to a stile leading out on to a
+common, where was a gipsy encampment.
+
+A couple of carts were drawn up near the hedge on one side of the
+field, four or five stiff-legged, scraggy horses were grazing hungrily
+on the short, stubbly grass, while not far from a fire, which blazed
+merrily under a black pot, sat a little company of brown-skinned,
+rough-looking men and women, and a few children played about around
+them.
+
+It helped to pass the time, watching the gipsies, so Tad, with the baby
+in his arms, got over the stile, and drawing nearer to the picturesque
+group, stood looking at the people, and hungrily sniffing the savoury
+steam that rose from the cooking-pot.
+
+Presently a young woman rose from among the little company, and came
+towards Tad.
+
+"You look hungry, lad; have a bite with us," she said.
+
+Tad gladly consented, and as the air was growing chill, he joined the
+group of gipsies as they gathered closer round the fire. The young
+woman took the baby from him, and fondled and rocked it while Tad ate
+his supper.
+
+"'Tain't long since she lost her own child," said one of the men to
+Tad, "and this little un ain't onlike him."
+
+When the lad had finished his meal, he thought he had perhaps better
+set off on a little spying expedition, to see if the coast was clear
+for him to take the baby home; for he did not wish to be met by any
+search parties coming to look for him and his little charge.
+
+But to do his spying safely; he ought to leave the child here; and
+turning to the young woman, who was walking to and fro with the baby,
+crooning to it, and putting it to sleep in the usual motherly fashion,
+he said:
+
+"I've got a errand to run, missis, and maybe it'll take me a hour or
+more. Would you have the goodness just to mind the little un for me
+till I can come back for him? I'll be as quick as I can."
+
+"It'll be all right," replied the woman, with an eager light in her
+dark eyes. "I'll see to the baby. You needn't hurry, neither. He's
+goin' off to sleep again, and there's no fear but what he'll be quite
+quiet and content."
+
+Thanking her warmly, away went the Tadpole, carrying his big head high,
+and putting all possible speed into his slender body and thin legs.
+He spent over an hour in dodging about and looking here and there for
+possible pursuers. But he met no search parties, and feeling now more
+sure than ever of being able to carry out his plan to the very end, he
+came leisurely back to the common where he had left the gipsy camp.
+
+It was quite dark now; he could just see the dull glow of the fire's
+dying embers, but nothing else. As he came nearer, however, what were
+his surprise and dismay to find that the place was deserted. Gone
+were the carts, the horses, the people, and worst of all, gone too
+was the baby. It was as if the whole encampment had melted into thin
+air—vanished as utterly as the scenes of a dream.
+
+"They must have crossed the common and come out into a road beyond,"
+thought Tad.
+
+And hoping to overtake them and get back the child, he started at a
+quick run, often stumbling in the darkness, and once or twice falling
+outright. After going some distance, he reached a place where four
+roads met, leading off in various directions. Meanwhile the darkness
+had deepened, no moon or stars lightened the gloom, and Tad began to
+realise the hopelessness of trying to follow the gipsies, who, no
+doubt, had employed their usual cunning to elude pursuit. Utterly
+baffled and at fault in his search, and well-nigh stunned by the
+misfortune that had come upon him, the lad stood still at the cross
+roads, and tried to collect his thoughts.
+
+His intention had been only to give his stepmother a thorough fright,
+by way of paying her out for some of the unkindness he and Bertie and
+Nell had received from her. But now the matter had been taken out of
+his hands, and it looked very much as if, not only Mrs. Poole, but he
+himself and the baby too, were likely to suffer from this revenge that
+he had so carefully planned.
+
+"What a mess I've got into, to be sure!" sighed Tad as he peered round
+with weary eyes, vainly searching the thick darkness. "Whatever shall I
+do?"
+
+His first impulse was to run home, confess the whole story to his
+father, and let him do what was best for the recovery of the baby.
+Tad's conscience told him that this clearly would be the right thing
+to do. But then, if he acted thus, it meant that he must face his
+stepmother's fury, and give up, for the present, at least, his plan of
+leaving home. He felt sure that Mrs. Poole would never believe that he
+had not deliberately and wilfully deserted the baby. He was certain she
+would never give him credit for his intention to bring her child safely
+back when the purposes of his boyish vengeance had been fulfilled.
+
+No—he did not feel he could muster courage enough to return home to
+such a greeting as hers would be, and yielding to the whispers of his
+cowardice, he determined to set out on his travels at once, without
+seeing any of his home people again, and leaving the baby to take its
+chance. Still, since his conscience gave him some sharp pricks as to
+the fate of the child entrusted to his care, he resolved that on the
+following day, he would send by post, from the first town or village
+through which he passed, a letter to his father, telling him just how
+it had happened that the little one was carried off by the gipsies who
+had been encamped on the common outside the town. This resolve arrived
+at, Tad felt a little comforted, and set out to walk to a place some
+six miles distant, where he intended to pass the night.
+
+In thus running away, he was conscious of only two causes of regret.
+One was his separation from Bert and Nell, and the other that he was
+obliged to give up his situation. He had feared to let Mr. Scales know
+he was leaving home, lest he should be stopped. So now he could not
+help thinking of the little ones crying because he did not come home to
+put them to bed as usual; and also of what his kind master would say
+when Monday morning came, but with it no boy to take the shutters down,
+and sweep out the shop, and get everything ready for the business of
+the day.
+
+"Still—all said and done—at least I'm free!" said Tad to himself. "I've
+shook off that horrid stepmother of mine, and it shan't be my fault if
+I ever see her again."
+
+So saying the lad drew himself up, and strode at a great pace along the
+dark road, and tried hard to believe that he had never been so happy in
+all his life.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+ANOTHER STEP DOWN
+
+IT was late that night before Tad reached the village of Pine Hill and
+approached the little, homely, old-fashioned inn which went by the name
+of "The Traveller's Rest," this being the sign of the first inn ever
+built in the place, hundreds of years before.
+
+The house was kept by a very respectable man, called Anthony Robson,
+and Tad had often heard his father speak of Tony Rob (as he called him)
+in high terms as a thoroughly good fellow.
+
+"Please can I have a bit of supper and a corner to lie down in?" asked
+Tad, timidly addressing the landlord, whose burly form was resting in a
+big armchair in the chimney corner.
+
+Apparently he was having a little rest and a last pipe before locking
+up his house for the night and going to bed.
+
+Tony Robson stared at the lad for what seemed to Tad an age before he
+replied. Then as he saw him cringe a little before the questioning gaze
+fixed upon him, he said:
+
+"Ain't you rather a whipper-snapper to be goin' journeyin' by yourself
+at this time of night, and Sunday too? What's your name?"
+
+Tad hesitated, with downcast eyes. If he gave his real name, the
+landlord might prevent his going any further; for he knew James Poole,
+and would guess that the boy was going away from his home without leave.
+
+"No," thought Tad, "I must give another name."
+
+Then as Tony, with his face growing a little stern and suspicious,
+again asked the question, the boy replied with the first name he
+could think of—Hal Barnes—this being the name of one of his former
+school-fellows who was now a farmer's boy living some miles from
+Ponderton.
+
+"And where may you be goin', Hal Barnes?" asked Tony.
+
+The second lie is always easier than the first, and to this question
+Tad replied glibly enough:
+
+"I'm a-goin' to Crest Mount, sir; goin' after a page's place up at
+the squire's. I'm to see him at ten sharp to-morrow mornin', and I
+couldn't do this unless I slept here to-night, for I comes from beyond
+Ponderton. Else I don't care for takin the road Sunday, and wouldn't
+have done it, if I could anyways manage different."
+
+"Dear me!" said Tad to himself. "How nat'ral and easy all that pretty
+little tale sounded!"
+
+The landlord seemed to think so too, for his face lost its stern
+expression, and he said:
+
+"Oh, that's it, is it? But Crest Mount is a goodish way, even from
+here; a matter of five mile or so."
+
+"Oh, I don't mind a walk, sir," said Tad, "and I shall be rested by
+to-morrow."
+
+"Well now," said Tony Robson, "I take it you don't want nothin' very
+expensive in the way of supper and bed, do you?"
+
+"No, sir, I haven't got much money, and I can't afford anything but the
+cheapest."
+
+"It's too late to cook you anything, and the wife's gone to bed, but
+you can have a slice of ham and a cut of the home-made loaf, and a pint
+mug of milk. Will that do for supper?"
+
+"Oh dear yes, sir, thank you," replied Tad.
+
+"And as for a bed, what do you say to a good shakedown of clean hay in
+the loft? It's sweet and wholesome, and you won't have to pay nothin'
+for it, so that'll leave you able to afford a bit of breakfast in the
+mornin'. My dame shall give you a good bowl of oatmeal and milk afore
+you start off for Crest Mount."
+
+"Thank you kindly, sir; I'm much obliged," said Tad.
+
+And glad to get out of answering any more questions, and of being
+forced to draw upon his imagination for his facts, he ate his supper
+and then thankfully went to bed in the loft among the scented hay,
+where, being very weary, he fell asleep at once, only coming back to
+consciousness when the landlord's stable-boy came in for hay for the
+horses of some early travellers.
+
+Tad ate his porridge, paid his reckoning, and walked briskly on,
+avoiding the busy high roads as much as possible, and taking short cuts
+across fields and through copses, lest he should chance to meet some
+one he knew.
+
+Once, about three miles from Crest Mount, he got a lift in a baker's
+cart, so it was only noon when he reached the place. There he bought at
+the post-office, which was also a stationer's shop, a sheet of paper, a
+pencil, an envelope, and a penny stamp, and carrying them to the Green
+where there were some benches, he sat down and wrote to his father,
+giving him an account of how the baby had been stolen, and adding that
+as he did not dare to face his stepmother after what had happened, he
+should not come home any more. He sent his best love to Bert and Nell,
+expressed a hope that the baby might soon be found, and remained James
+Poole's dutiful son, Tad.
+
+When the letter was posted, the boy felt as though he had shaken off a
+weight. Now he need stay no longer in Crest Mount; he would only just
+buy himself a little loaf and a couple of apples for his dinner, and
+then push on towards a small seaport called Upland Bay.
+
+Though Ponderton—the place where he had lived all his life—was not very
+far from the coast, Tad had never yet seen the sea. But he had read
+wonderful things about it in the absurd penny dreadfuls that he had
+got hold of now and again. His head was full of pirates, of marvellous
+adventures on strange islands, of grand discoveries of countless
+treasures in all sorts of unlikely places. Also he had a vague idea
+that, somehow or other, the sea brought luck sure and certain, and that
+if he could only manage to get to the shore, his fortune was as good as
+made.
+
+He walked on all day, only stopping now and again to ask his way, or to
+beg a drink of water or buttermilk at the farms he passed. But it was
+dark by the time he reached the little town of Upland Bay—a picturesque
+place, perched high upon a bold cliff, while, on the inland side, a
+wide reach of breezy downs and cornfields stretched away for miles, as
+it seemed to Tad when he peered through the darkness.
+
+As he trudged up the High Street, looking curiously about him, and
+eagerly inhaling the cool, strong, salt air, he was suddenly brought to
+a stand in front of the police-station. For there, in full glare of a
+lamp, he saw a large written notice posted up. With blanched cheeks and
+starting eyes he read these words:
+
+   "Missing since yesterday morning, Sunday, September 2nd, Edward Poole
+ of Ponderton, aged fourteen, having with him a baby boy about eight
+ months old. When last seen was carrying the child and a basket through
+ the streets of Ponderton. The lad has a big head and thin body, and was
+ dressed in a dark grey suit with a cap of the same, and the baby in
+ a red flannel dress and coat. A reward will be paid to anyone giving
+ information that may lead to the finding of the lad and infant."
+
+Here, at least, in this out-of-the-way place, Tad had thought to feel
+himself safe; but even here the hue and cry was after him, and a reward
+offered for his capture. Assuredly Mrs. Poole had lost no time. The
+telegraph had been set to work, and probably at every little town and
+village within twenty miles of Ponderton, a written notice had been
+posted.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+DRIVEN FORTH
+
+LIKE one in a bad dream, Tad stood and stared at the placard. There was
+something very ominous and startling, on coming for the first time into
+this little town, to find his secret, his story there before him.
+
+"Ay there it is!" he muttered. "My name and my clothes and all, so as
+the perlice should be sure to catch me. Catch me? Ay, and so they may
+yet."
+
+At the thought, he shrank into the shadow of the wall.
+
+"Why, here I am, with my big head, and thin body, and I'm wearin' of
+that very grey suit and cap, and a bobby might just step out and nab me
+this minute. Now what can I do," Tad asked himself, "to put the bobbies
+off the scent and make 'em think there's no Edward Poole in the place?"
+
+Musing intently, the lad had moved stealthily away, and turned down
+a narrow, dark street, where he was less likely to be noticed. Once
+round the corner, he quickened his pace until he came to a little
+archway leading into some kind of a court. Here he undid his satchel,
+produced from it an old snuff-coloured suit that he used to wear when
+doing dirty work, and proceeded to exchange his tidy grey clothes for
+the shabby brown, packing the former carefully away in the satchel.
+He turned his cap inside out, and put it on well forward, shading his
+eyes; then turning his frayed collar up round his throat, he emerged
+from the sheltering archway.
+
+The clouds had been gathering for the last hour or two, and now the
+rain began to fall, the lamps were dim and blurred, and the lad's
+courage revived. A big cookshop attracted him by its savoury odours,
+which made the hungry boy's mouth water. While he was gazing in and
+wondering which of all the good things he should choose if he could
+afford a hearty supper, two men came up, and also paused for a look.
+
+Tad, feeling fairly safe in his old brown clothes, did not move
+away at once, and had not indeed taken much notice of them or their
+conversation, until a sentence—a single sentence—of their talk, turned
+him faint and sick with fear, and set him trembling all over.
+
+"I say, Bill, they say there's more partic'lars now about that there
+scoundrel of a boy. You know which I mean—the artful young chap what
+run off with the baby; disappeared with his poor little half-brother."
+
+Not daring to move lest he should be noticed, afraid almost to breathe,
+Tad listened intently.
+
+"No, is there, Fred?" said the man Bill.
+
+"Yes," replied Fred; "it 'pears as if this lad Poole was a wonderful
+jealous, spiteful sort of chap, and they're half afeared he may have
+got rid of the baby somehow, just out of pure wickedness—and then run
+away."
+
+"Wouldn't I like to catch the young gallows-bird!" remarked Bill so
+savagely that Tad would have turned and fled that minute, but that he
+must have given himself away there and then by so doing. "I've got a
+dear little un of my own," resumed Bill in a softened voice, "only
+about eight months old too, and I know just how I'd feel to anyone as
+tried to treat him unjust and unfair."
+
+"Well," remarked the man Fred, "one comfort is that there's little
+chance of the boy gettin' clear away. He's safe to be nabbed sooner or
+later; I only wish I'd the doin' of it."
+
+Then the two men went into the shop, and Tad, with a white, drawn face
+and quaking limbs, moved away from the shop window.
+
+After wandering about among the darkest and poorest streets in the
+town, he found his way at last to the harbour, where several small
+coasters and smacks were about to sail, for the wind was fair, and the
+tide just on the turn.
+
+"Please, sir, don't you want someone to help on board your boat?" asked
+Tad of the skipper of the largest vessel.
+
+The man turned, took his pipe out of his mouth, and eyed Tad from head
+to foot.
+
+The boy winced under the keen scrutiny, and repeated his question.
+
+"Hum!" grunted the skipper. "And what do you know about the sea?"
+
+"Oh, lots!" replied Tad, with vivid recollections of the sea-stories he
+had read.
+
+"Ever been to sea before?"
+
+"No, but—"
+
+"Is your father a sailor?"
+
+"No, but—"
+
+"But what?" questioned the man roughly.
+
+"I've read lots about it, and always thought I'd like it of all things."
+
+The skipper gave a little short laugh, which emboldened Tad to remark:
+
+"What I'd like best to be, is a pirate."
+
+"A what?" growled the man.
+
+"A pirate, you know, sir; I've read all about them, and they has the
+jolliest kind of a life, takin' treasure ships and hidin' away the
+gold and di'monds on desert islands where there's no end of wonderful
+things, and then I've—"
+
+"Shut up!" roared the skipper. "Of all the precious young fools I ever
+see, you're the biggest—far away. If them's the sort of yarns you spin,
+you'd never do no good aboard of the 'Mariar-Ann.' So hold your noise
+and be off with you. I'll be bound you're a runaway from home, and your
+mother 'll be comin' along lookin' for you presently."
+
+"I haven't got a mother, but it's true I want to get away out of this.
+I'll do anything, everything you tell me if you'll take me to sea with
+you."
+
+"Now look here, youngster," said the man, "I ain't goin' to get myself
+into a mess, not for nobody. Tell the truth—are you in hidin'?"
+
+"Yes," said poor Tad.
+
+"What have you been up to?"
+
+"It's too long a story to tell here," replied the boy, peering about
+him distrustfully into the darkness. "Take me on board and I'll tell
+you all."
+
+"Take you aboard and run the risk of bein' took up myself, for helpin'
+you away? Not if I know it! And now I think of it—" he added half to
+himself—"wasn't there some sort of notice up in the town about a lad
+wanted by the police? Here, Tim," he called to a man who was at work on
+the vessel. "What did you tell me you see wrote up at the station?" And
+the skipper turned his head to hear his mate's reply.
+
+"There—you see, you young scamp," said the skipper, when—his suspicions
+confirmed—he turned once more to address Tad.
+
+But to his surprise, he found himself talking into empty space. The
+culprit at the bar had not waited for the verdict. Tad was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+AFLOAT
+
+WHEN the wind blew the clouds away about midnight, and the moon came
+out, the cold white light falling upon a lonely high road revealed a
+wretched figure toiling on with weary, dragging steps, his garments
+heavy with rain.
+
+This miserable tramp was Tad. He still carried his satchel, but that
+too was drenched, and when he stopped and groped in it for some food
+to stay the pangs of hunger, he pulled out only a squashy mess of
+pulp which had once called itself a penny roll, but which now bore no
+resemblance whatever—not even a family likeness—to that dainty.
+
+With a sigh and a glance of disgust, Tad threw the sop into the ditch
+at the side of the road, and plodded on, splashing recklessly through
+the deep mud and puddles. The road, bounded on the right by cornfields,
+had run along the cliff keeping close to the coastline. But now the way
+cut straight across the shoulder of a promontory, and began to dip to a
+gorge on the further side, between mighty jagged walls where some long
+ago convulsion of nature had broken the cliff line of the shore.
+
+This gully widened towards the beach, ending there, above high-water
+mark, in soft, deep, white sand which gleamed like silver in the
+moonlight.
+
+To the heavy sleepful eyes of the traveller, the spot looked inviting
+enough. Sheltered from the wind, dry under foot, and as lonely and
+deserted as ever a fugitive and a vagabond could desire, this rocky,
+sand-carpeted nook seemed a very haven of refuge to poor Tad. Slowly
+and cautiously picking his way among the irregularities of the gorge,
+the forlorn lad clambered down, and presently found himself in the
+sandy corner which promised so welcome a refuge.
+
+Here, by the white light of the moon, he crawled in and out among the
+rocks till he found a deep bed of dry sand with large boulders all
+round it, so that it was quite a sheltered nest, shutting out the keen
+autumn wind, and screening him too from observation, had there been
+anyone to see.
+
+Here, then, nestling down among the rocks, and burrowing into the sand
+like a rabbit, poor Tad, lulled by the quiet, monotonous wash of the
+waves on the shingle lower down, fell sound asleep—so sound that he
+heard nothing, saw nothing. Till in broad daylight, he awoke suddenly
+with the feeling of something cold against his cheek. And starting up,
+he found a little rough cur gazing inquisitively into his face, with
+its comical head on one side. It was the little, chill, black nose of
+the animal rubbing against his cheek that had waked him.
+
+Tad sprang to his feet alarmed. The sun was high in the heavens; the
+hour could not be far from noon. He had almost slept the clock round.
+Only half awake still, he stared about him with frightened eyes.
+Where there was a dog there might also be people—people who might
+have heard his story, and would perhaps recognise him for the hunted
+young scapegrace who was supposed to have done away with his little
+half-brother.
+
+Hither and thither, with panic-stricken gaze, peered poor Tad, but no
+human form was in sight. He walked a few steps further to get a wider
+view of the shore. Rounding a corner of rock, he spied, in the cleft
+of a boulder, a gleam of colour. As he came nearer, he saw that the
+gleam of colour was the corner of a red bandanna kerchief tied round
+something, in the form of a bundle. But as the boy—cramped and stiff
+with lying for twelve hours in damp things—stooped painfully to examine
+the bundle, the dog leaped past him, and lay down by the rock with his
+forepaws on the knot of the kerchief. Made bold by hunger, and feeling
+sure the bundle contained food, Tad laid his hand upon it and tried
+to lift it, but as he did so, the dog growled and showed his teeth.
+Evidently the animal had been sent to guard the bundle, and the owner
+of both would be back presently.
+
+By this time the boy was perfectly ravenous with hunger, and ready to
+do anything for a meal. He did not, however, wish to run the risk of
+being bitten, and so he at first tried to divert the dog's attention
+by throwing a stick towards the water for him to fetch. But the sharp
+little cur saw through his design, and would not budge an inch.
+
+Then Tad took up an ocean cat-o'-nine-tails of tough, leathery seaweed,
+and tried to frighten the poor little beast away, but it only whined,
+and crouched still closer to the rock.
+
+Made quite desperate by the little animal's faithful resistance, Tad
+at last dragged an old shirt out of his satchel, threw the clinging
+folds over the dog's head and body, tied the sleeves together round
+the little creature, and rolled it, struggling and snapping vainly,
+into a long, bolster-like bundle. This he laid down on the sand, with
+two large stones on the outer folds to keep the dog from extricating
+itself. Then he snatched up the red kerchief and unknotted it. Oh joy!
+What a delightful dinner met the glad eyes of the famished lad. Several
+thick slices of bread and butter, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, part of
+the heel of a Dutch cheese, and a solid-looking, brown-crusted, seed
+loaf, together with a tin flask of cold coffee.
+
+Tad's first impulse was to sit right down, then and there, and gorge
+himself with the food. But fear for his safety mastered even the
+impulse of his hunger, and he remembered that the owner of the dog and
+the red bundle would certainly be returning soon.
+
+Looking about him, uncertain what to do for the best, the lad espied a
+little boat, moored to a rock in shallow water, not very far from the
+place where he was standing. And the idea occurred to him that he might
+get to the boat by wading, row off to a little rocky islet about half a
+mile out to sea, and—
+
+"Then," said he to himself, "I shall be safe, and I'll have time to
+think what to do next."
+
+Another swift look round to see that no one was coming yet—then the boy
+ran down the beach, waded into the water, scrambled into a boat, and at
+once cast off the loop of string which held her to a jutting point of
+the rock.
+
+The tide had turned, and away slipped the boat on a receding wave, into
+deeper water. For a few minutes Tad, in his great hunger, was so busy
+discussing the contents of the red bundle, that he was conscious of
+nothing else. But, as the first sharp pangs of famine were assuaged, he
+glanced about him, and seeing that the tide and current were carrying
+him away from the island, he threw down the remnants of his stolen
+meal, so as to take up the oars, which he had not thought of before.
+
+What were the boy's feelings when he found that there were no oars in
+the boat at all; they must have been left on shore, together with the
+sail and the boat-hook.
+
+With an exclamation of fear and horror, Tad turned his eyes
+despairingly towards the beach, hoping to see someone who would come in
+another boat to his rescue, for his little craft, borne swiftly on the
+ebb of the tide, was drifting steadily out to sea. But no—not a soul
+was in sight anywhere on land, and not a fishing-smack upon the water,
+far as the eye could reach.
+
+Overwhelmed with despair at this new misfortune that had befallen
+him, and perceiving dimly that this, like the others, was clearly the
+outcome of his own wrong-doings, the poor lad in despair threw himself
+down in the bottom of his drifting boat, sobbing and crying till he
+fell asleep again from exhaustion; fell asleep rocked by the swaying
+and heaving of the waters; hushed into a deep and dreamless rest by
+their wash and whisper.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+JEREMIAH JACKSON
+
+"BOAT ahoy! Wake up there! Or is it dead you are?"
+
+With these words ringing in his ears, Tad sprang to his feet, nearly
+upsetting the little boat. The sun had gone down, the soft twilight was
+stealing over sea and sky, and close to him was a vessel, a good-sized
+schooner, laden with timber; even her decks were piled with it.
+
+The skipper, a fat, red-headed, freckled man, with kind, blue eyes and
+a big voice, was looking over the ship's side at the poor solitary
+waif, in the oarless, sail-less boat, while another man threw a rope to
+Tad and called to him to catch hold. The boy had just sense enough to
+obey, and the sailor drew the boat close, and in a minute or two Tad
+was safe on the deck of the schooner.
+
+"Where did you come from, shrimp?" asked the fellow who had thrown the
+rope.
+
+"And how do you come to be making a voyage all by yourself?" cried a
+second sailor.
+
+"What's up with your parents, I'd like to know," remarked a third,
+"that they lot you go to sea in a cockleshell?"
+
+"Shut up, boys, and hold your noise, all of you!" said the red-haired
+man in a voice like a speaking-trumpet. "Time enough for all that later
+on. Can't you see, you three blind bats, that the lad's half dead with
+cold and hunger and fear? Here, Frank," he called to a tall boy who
+appeared just then from the cuddy with a big metal teapot in his hand,
+"take the youngster to your place, and let him have a wash and a warm,
+and then give him some tea and cold corned beef, and afterwards bring
+him below to me."
+
+So, an hour later, poor Tad, clean and comfortable, and with his
+appetite satisfied, was ushered into the trim cabin, where the skipper
+sat finishing his own meal.
+
+"Now then, my young voyager," said he, as Tad stood silently before
+him, "give an account of yourself! How did you happen to be floatin'
+round in the sea, as I found you?"
+
+"Afore I say anything, sir," replied Tad, "what do you mean to do with
+me?"
+
+"We're bound for Granville with Norwegian pine," said the skipper; "and
+as I can't alter my course for you, you've got to go along of me."
+
+"And please, sir, where may Granville be? Is it in Wales or maybe
+Scotland?"
+
+"No, my lad, it's in France," rejoined the man.
+
+"France!" exclaimed Tad, aghast. "But I don't want to go to France."
+
+"Then I don't see but what we must stop the ship, and put you aboard
+your small boat—as we're towin' at this present moment—and let you
+drift; then, as sure as my name's Jeremiah Jackson, you'll go to the
+bottom of the sea the first breeze that comes. If you like that better
+than France, I'll give the orders at once." And the big skipper laughed.
+
+"Well, sir," said Tad, after a minute's reflection, "maybe, arter all,
+it won't be such a bad thing for me to go to France, considerin'—"
+
+"Considerin' what, boy? Now then, make a clean breast of it and tell
+the truth."
+
+"Considerin' as how the bobbies is arter me," replied Tad reluctantly.
+
+The captain gave a low whistle, and a quick glance at the lad's
+downcast face, then he said:
+
+"What are they after you for? What have you been and done?"
+
+"Well sir—to tell the truth, there's several things I done, but the
+perlice ain't arter me for them. It's for the things I ain't done that
+they're arter me."
+
+"It seems to me you must be clean off your head, child, to tell me such
+nonsense," remarked the skipper. "Now then, try and give me something I
+can believe."
+
+So plucking up courage, and seeing real kindness in the fat skipper's
+face, Tad told his story, beginning with the home miseries and his
+longing to revenge himself on his stepmother; then his making off
+with his little half-brother, and the disappearance of the child with
+the gipsies; his subsequent adventures and escapes, his thefts and
+dodges and lies, and the misfortune that had followed him all the way
+through—all this Tad told without keeping back anything.
+
+Jeremiah Jackson listened attentively, only interrupting the boy's
+narrative now and again to ask a question, if Tad's hesitating speech
+did not succeed in making his meaning clear.
+
+But when the lad paused at last, adding only, "That's all, sir," the
+skipper said:
+
+"So you feel as if you'd been unlucky, do you?"
+
+"Yes, sir," rejoined Tad; "everything's gone agen me from the first; I
+can't think why."
+
+"Shall I tell you?" asked Jeremiah, a kind, pitying look coming into
+his blue eyes, and making his big broad face almost beautiful; "it is
+hard for thee to kick against the pricks." Then, seeing that Tad did
+not understand, he added, "When we set out on a wrong and dangerous
+road, lad, we can scarce wonder—it seems to me—if we meets with ill
+luck. S'posin' now, that instead of gettin' out my chart and studyin'
+my course, careful and sure, I just let the ship drive afore the wind,
+whose fault would it be, think you, Teddie Poole, if we run slap up
+agen a rock and come to be a wreck? But judgin' from what you've been
+tellin' me, that's very like what you done."
+
+Tad was silent. Deep down in his heart, where his conscience was
+awakening, he felt the truth of what the skipper said.
+
+Jeremiah Jackson went on:
+
+"I know it's been very hard for you, my poor boy. I don't wonder you
+wanted to run away from home, nor I don't blame you for doin' it—things
+bein' as they was. But the trick you played on your stepmother was a
+mean thing, and it's out of this wrong-doin' that all the rest of the
+bad things has come, makin' of you a thief and a vagabond."
+
+"Yes, sir, that's so, but what am I to do now?"
+
+"Well," said the skipper, "maybe you won't relish what I'm goin' to
+say, but if I was you I'd ask this here old Jeremiah Jackson to carry
+me back to England when he sails from Granville in a week's time for
+Southampton. And then, lad, I'd make the best of my way home again—even
+if I had to tramp it; and I'd tell the bobbies and my dad too the whole
+truth, and take brave and patient anything as comes after, whether it
+be the lock-up or a good hidin'. No, Teddie Poole, don't look at me so!
+That would be the straight, right, manly thing to do, and what's more,
+it would be the Christian thing too."
+
+Tad hung his head. Jeremiah Jackson had asked a hard thing, a very
+hard thing. And yet the good man's words had touched him; he felt the
+skipper was right. But he shrank from all that he felt sure awaited him
+at home. The thought of his stepmother's relentless wrath daunted him.
+He could almost see her frowning, hateful face, and hear his father's
+stern voice and hard words. All that he must do and suffer if he took
+the course suggested to him, came to his mind now, and overwhelmed him
+with dread.
+
+"Think it out, lad, to-night," said Jeremiah, "and ask the good Lord
+Who ain't far—so the Scripture says—from anyone of us, to help you to
+do the right, and leave the rest with Him."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+FOXY AND PHIL
+
+THE "Stormy Petrel," as Jeremiah Jackson's vessel was called, remained
+nearly a week at Granville, discharging her cargo, and loading again
+with various goods for Southampton.
+
+During these days Tad was in a miserably uncertain state of mind. At
+one time he would almost resolve to take the good skipper's advice,
+and go home to face bravely anything that might happen. At another, he
+shrank from the thought of returning, and felt as though he could far
+more easily brave any amount of unknown dangers, than go back to the
+home troubles that he knew so well.
+
+On the afternoon of the day before the schooner was to sail, Tad was
+standing about on the wharf feeling very unhappy, and very uncertain
+as to what course to take. While he wandered listlessly round, he met
+a boy about twelve years of age, with a monkey in his arms. A small
+organ was strapped across the lad's shoulders, and when he turned the
+handle of the instrument, it ground out a horrible parody of a popular
+French tune, and the monkey, leaping from its bearer's arms, danced a
+queer kind of hornpipe on the top of the organ, tossing its little red
+cap in the air, and pretending to be in the best of good spirits. What
+a feeble pretence this was, however, even Tad could see, for the poor
+little beast had a face almost as pinched and woebegone as that of the
+organ boy, and that was saying a great deal.
+
+As it happened, Tad was still mooning over the second half of his
+dinner, so much absorbed was he in perplexing thought. All on board
+the schooner had been too busy that day to have a proper dinner set
+out, and Tad had received his rations of bread and salt pork, and a
+substantial baked apple dumpling, and had been told to go on shore and
+eat it there. The bread and meat had been eaten, and the first hunger
+being appeased, Tad had once more fallen into a brown study, out of
+which he was roused only when the poor little organ lad and his monkey
+had come quite near, and were casting longing glances upon the dumpling
+which Tad held—only half folded in paper—in his hand.
+
+The mute language of want is one which the eyes speak very plainly. At
+least this language is plain enough to those who have suffered from
+hunger, and Tad knew only too well what it was to be hungry. So when
+he saw the longing look in the eyes both of boy and beast, he promptly
+handed over his dumpling, and for a while forgot his own troubles in
+the delight with which his bounty was received.
+
+The organ boy broke off a generous piece first for his little charge,
+then sitting down in a quiet corner of the wharf, he began to eat his
+own share, gratefully smiling and nodding his thanks to Tad, but not
+saying a word.
+
+"The little chap's a Frenchman, for sure," said Tad to himself, "and
+can't speak no English, and he sees plain enough as how I ain't a
+countryman of his. That's why he don't try to talk to me. Still he may
+have learned a few words of English while he carried his organ round;
+I'll try him and see if he understands me."
+
+"Look here," said Tad, laying a hand on the little lad's shoulder to
+arrest his attention, "are you a French boy, or what?"
+
+The child shook his head, but whether this meant that he was not a
+French boy or that he did not understand what was being said to him,
+Tad could not tell.
+
+"I do wish I knowed if you can understand what I says to you," said
+Tad; "I'd like to have a talk with you if you do but understand and
+speak a little bit of English. Now, what's your name?"
+
+The organ boy looked full in Tad's face, then glanced round timidly,
+and said:
+
+"Hush, not so loud! I'm English, like you; my name's Phil Bates, but
+I've a French master, and he's forbidden me to speak to any of my own
+people, and if he catches me at it, don't he beat me just!"
+
+His tone and manner were quiet and restrained, and his language more
+refined than might have been expected in a boy of his appearance and
+employment.
+
+"And how do you come to be with a French master?" inquired Tad.
+
+"Oh, my aunt, (her I lived with after father and mother died) she sort
+of sold me to old Foxy. She was poor and had some children of her own,
+and was glad to be rid of me, and so Foxy (Renard is his name) gave a
+half sov for me, and he's got me, worse luck!"
+
+"Was you sold here in France?" asked Tad.
+
+"No, Foxy went over to England for something or other. We was livin'
+not far from Southampton, and he happened to see me standin' at
+auntie's cottage door, and her close by. And says he to her in that
+wonderful lingo of his, 'Mine good womans, is dis so pretty boy your
+own cheaild?'
+
+"And says auntie, 'No, he ain't, he's only a nevvy.'"
+
+"So then Foxy says, 'It is for such boy dat I am looking, good madame;
+dis one will be quaite suit for my work, and I will give truly gold for
+him, one piece of ten shilling for the cheaild, and wat you call half
+crown for his clothes—all dat he have. So den mine good womans, is dis
+one bargain?'
+
+"Them was his very words!"
+
+"Why, he reg'lar bought you!" cried Tad.
+
+"Yes, in course he did. Well—my aunt she says 'No' when he asks her
+if that was a bargain, and she cried a bit and said somethin' about
+her poor dead sister's child, and cried again and said 'Yes' to Foxy,
+and—well—here I am!"
+
+And the boy stuffed the last remnant of the apple dumpling into his
+mouth, and getting up, slung the organ over his shoulder, and took the
+monkey in his arms again. He was just moving away, when a harsh, hoarse
+voice behind Tad said angrily:
+
+"And wat is dis dat I hear? Can it be dat de boy Anglais wat am in
+my care to learn de French language have once again disobey, and is
+speaking his mudder tongue? Ah, mine cheaild, you did not tink dat over
+dere, hiding and watching 'mong de rubbidge on de water side, was your
+master! But now who am you?" went on Renard, addressing himself to Tad,
+"and how come you to dis country?"
+
+"I came on that schooner," replied the lad, pointing towards the
+"Stormy Petrel."
+
+"You look not like a sailor," remarked Renard, eyeing the boy
+suspiciously.
+
+"I ain't one neither," said Tad.
+
+"Den widout doubt you shall return to Angleterre in dis same boat?"
+suggested the man.
+
+"I don't know that I shall," rejoined Tad, his face clouding over again.
+
+"La France is a lov'ly country, mon cher," remarked Renard. "It shall
+be better for you to stay here; go not back across de sea."
+
+"But I ain't got nothin' to do here," said Tad. "No country's lovely
+when a chap's starvin'."
+
+"But have you not over de sea in Angleterre some peoples dat waits for
+you?"
+
+"No," replied Tad.
+
+"Good! Den hark at me!" said Foxy, laying one brown, claw-like hand on
+Tad's shoulder, and fixing his yellow-green eyes on the boy's face.
+"Let sail away dat ship, and you take service wid me. Philipe here, and
+his so lov'ly monkey shall your camarades be, and we weel go togedder
+about, and all so gay happy be—eh?"
+
+Tad did not answer. Here again was an offer which he did not find it
+easy either to accept or refuse. Instinctively, he shrank from this
+cat-eyed man, with his repulsive face and his strange lingo. And yet,
+would he be worse off with him than with his home people? For all Tad's
+lessons—hard though they had been—had not yet taught him that to choose
+the right—however unpromising—was the only safe way. He was still on
+the lookout for the easiest and pleasantest path through life, and had
+no thought of seeking first the kingdom of heaven and the righteousness
+of God.
+
+Renard waited quietly for a minute or two, furtively watching the
+boy's face. Tad glanced round and saw him, and recoiled from him as
+from some poisonous reptile. Indeed his fear of the man was so real
+that he hesitated to say the words which would pledge him to this new
+and strange service. Perhaps after all he would have decided to return
+with Jeremiah Jackson to England, had not Phil, the organ boy, gazed
+wistfully up into Tad's eyes, whispering "Do—do join us! I'm that
+lonely and desp'rate as I don't know how to bear myself."
+
+"You really want me?" said Tad, to whom—after all his many
+experiences—the thought of being wanted by some one was very sweet.
+
+"I do, dreffully," replied the child.
+
+"That settles it, then!" said Tad. "All right, mister," he added,
+turning to Renard, "I don't mind working for you, only what about
+wages?"
+
+"Ah, mine good friend, we shall talk of dat leetle affairs later. And
+for de present, will you not fetch your tings from de boat?" suggested
+Foxy with a leer that showed a line of black, ragged stumps of teeth.
+
+"I've got nothin' save a very few clothes," answered Tad, "but I'll
+bring 'em at once, and say good-bye to Jeremiah Jackson at the same
+time."
+
+"Jeremie Jacqueson?" repeated Foxy. "Say you dat he is de man wat
+sailed you to la France?"
+
+"Yes; what's the matter?" inquired Tad.
+
+"De matter is dat you shall not make your adieu to Jeremie," replied
+Foxy with a threatening look. "He is enemy of me, and he weel hold you
+back and not suffer you to come wid me."
+
+"Nonsense, mister," said Tad, "he's got no right to interfere; I can do
+as I please."
+
+Foxy shook his head.
+
+"Fetch dose tings of your, but say not one leetle word to Jeremie of
+old Renard; so den all will go well, and when de ship sail, you shall
+be far from here, and Jeremie, my enemy, finds you not."
+
+Once more Tad hesitated. This secrecy did not please him; and besides,
+it seemed ungrateful to leave the good skipper without a word of
+acknowledgment and farewell.
+
+The wily Frenchman saw the hesitation, and determined to clinch the
+matter once for all.
+
+"Ma foi, mine boy!" said he roughly. "If it like you not to do wat I
+tell you, go—go to your Jeremie, and come not back. I shall find oders
+dat weel be enchante to work for good, kind, old Renard," and the man
+took little Phil by the arm and began to walk away.
+
+"Stop, stop, mister!" cried Tad. "Wait for me. I'll just run on board
+for my things, and I'll be with you in a minute. I promise I won't tell
+the skipper nothin', as you say he ain't no friend of yours."
+
+Tad kept his word, and in three minutes he had joined the Frenchman
+and little Phil, and thereby started on a new and perilous road in his
+journey of life.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+A SLAVE INDEED
+
+OLD Renard, as Tad soon found, was a Jack-of-all-trades. He could
+turn his hand to most things, though he did no sort of work well or
+thoroughly. But he was a bit of a tinker, a basket-maker, and mender;
+he could do a bit of rough cobbling for any villager who wanted a pair
+of boots mended; he could put a passable patch in a pair of trousers;
+and he could even play the dentist after a fashion of his own, and take
+out teeth, often getting a sound tooth by mistake, and very cheerfully
+giving any amount of pain for his fee.
+
+Then, too, he was a bit of a pedlar, and generally carried about with
+him a box of cheap jewellery, relics, and knick-knacks, on which, by
+aid of his glib tongue, he made a fair profit. He also sold patent
+pills and ointments and quack remedies to the ignorant folk, besides
+earning many a dishonest penny by the telling of their fortunes. But it
+was by the lads in his employ that he made the most regular part of his
+income, and Tad soon found that his new work was by no means a bed of
+roses, and that old Foxy was quite as fully bent upon making him serve
+with rigour, as were the old Egyptian task-masters with their Israelite
+bondsmen.
+
+Every morning, early, Phil and Tad were sent out into the streets of
+any town in which they happened to be. Phil had his little organ and
+monkey Jacko, and Tad was obliged to carry a much larger and noisier
+instrument, which sent forth a hoarse mingling of howl and screech when
+he turned the stiff handle, eliciting much bad language from people
+condemned to listen to it.
+
+Every day the lads were compelled to give their master a certain sum.
+Sometimes they earned a little more, sometimes less, but not a sou did
+he ever abate of the sum to be paid to him; and if the required amount
+were not forthcoming every night on their return, the boys met with
+punishment more or less severe, according to the state of intoxication
+reached at the time by their master. For Renard was a heavy drinker,
+though seldom helplessly drunk. His was a head accustomed to alcohol,
+and he could take a great deal without other results than to make him
+quarrelsome and violent. But in the later stages of his drinking bouts,
+he became utterly unreasonable and a perfect savage, beating the lads
+unmercifully, and using horrible language.
+
+It was only when he was tired out, exhausted with his own violence,
+that he fell into a deep sleep, and then the two English boys dared
+to talk freely after they lay down to rest, exchanging confidences,
+telling their respective stories, and giving each other the sympathy
+which was now their only comfort.
+
+To ensure that his little slaves did not run away from him, Renard
+had taken from them everything that belonged to them save the poor
+clothes they wore. He had sold their little possessions and pocketed
+the proceeds; and now he chuckled with an evil triumph as they left
+him in the morning, for he well knew that even if they tried to escape
+from the bondage in which he held them, they could not get far. Without
+money, or articles which they could turn into money, and also without
+friends—what could they do in a foreign land? Even the so-called
+musical instruments they carried were worthless, and no pawnbroker in
+his senses would have advanced ten centimes upon them.
+
+So passed the days and weeks, and autumn merged into winter. Frost and
+sleet and bitter winds made the lives of the poor boys yet harder to
+bear.
+
+Scantily fed, yet more scantily clothed, housed like dogs, their
+suffering was great, while old Foxy appeared to take a malicious
+pleasure in their misery, and taunted them cruelly when he saw them
+especially downhearted and sad.
+
+At first Tad bore all these new troubles with a kind of dogged,
+stubborn patience. Even such a life as this, he told himself, was
+better than that he had led at home, and as he had made up his mind to
+rough it, rough it he would.
+
+But after a while the growing brutality of Renard roused the lad's
+hatred and instinct of retaliation, and the man himself would have
+shrunk in startled horror, had he guessed what dark and murderous
+thoughts began to fill the brain of this poor, ill-used drudge of his.
+
+But it never occurred to old Foxy that there might be danger to
+himself resulting from his treatment of the lads if he drove them to
+desperation. He had no notion of their doing anything worse than trying
+to run away, or possibly robbing him of food or a few sous; and if they
+did either of these things, he thought he knew how to deal with them.
+
+Time went on, and now Christmas was close at hand: at least it wanted
+only ten days to the twenty-fifth, a festive season for many, but not
+for poor Phil and Tad. Poor gentle little Phil was sadder than ever
+now, for the great cold had killed Jacko, and the boy, who had dearly
+loved his little companion, grieved sorely over his loss, and clung the
+more closely to Tad as his only friend and sole comforter.
+
+One day Renard and the lads were tramping along a high road, on their
+way to a place some miles away. Stopping to rest awhile and eat their
+poor dinner, they were joined by two men who were evidently known to
+Renard.
+
+The newcomers, after a little talk, drew old Foxy away from the
+spot where the boys were seated munching their crusts and drinking
+cold barley coffee out of a bottle. Here the men were quite out of
+earshot, and a whispered conversation commenced, which seemed, from
+the mysterious faces and gestures of the speakers, to be of the utmost
+interest and importance.
+
+Presently it appeared that the two men were to accompany Renard and his
+boys on their journey, for when dinner was over, all rose and walked
+together towards the town, which was reached about nightfall.
+
+The lads slept on straw in a shed in the suburbs that night, and would
+have been thankful to rest undisturbed till morning, for they were very
+weary. But they were roused about midnight by their master's hissing
+whisper:
+
+"Rise and come wid me, bote of you!"
+
+Tad sat up staring straight before him, only half awake, while Phil
+rubbed his heavy eyes and groaned.
+
+"Why," said Tad, "surely it's the middle of the night, master; what do
+you want with us? We are both tired and need to sleep."
+
+"Hold dat tongue of yours, and get you up," replied Foxy sharply; "dat
+is all you have to do. And be queek if you would not haf the steek."
+
+So very weary, and full of fear and foreboding, the boys rose and
+followed Foxy out into the road, where, much to their surprise, a light
+spring cart and good horse were awaiting them, the two strange men
+sitting in front.
+
+"Now then, Renard," said Paul, the one who held the reins, "in with the
+children and yourself! The luggage is in already, you say? Good! Now
+are you ready?"
+
+"They are all in, Paul," said Jean, his companion; "drive on, my
+friend; anyway it will be one o'clock before we get there."
+
+Paul drew the whip across the horse's flanks, the animal sprang
+forward, fell into a spanking trot, and soon left the little town far
+behind.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+WEAK YET SO STRONG
+
+THE lads dared not exchange even so much as a whisper during their
+drive, for old Foxy was close beside them in the back of the cart.
+But both Phil and Tad felt that they had cause for dread now if never
+before. Anything so unusual as a midnight drive, in the company, too,
+of strangers, had never happened before, and the poor boys, as they
+thought over everything, realised that a crisis of some sort was at
+hand.
+
+Of the two, Tad was the more miserable. With him, hitherto, temptation
+had invariably meant yielding, had brought fresh sin and new troubles.
+And now he feared lest once more he should fall and sink yet deeper in
+the mire.
+
+Since Phil and he had been constant companions, Tad's conscience had
+once more awakened. He felt that Phil was a far better boy than he
+was himself, for in all the trials, the troubles, the miseries that
+had befallen this poor orphan child, he had not lost his honesty, his
+truthfulness, nor his simple faith in God.
+
+Tad was conscious of this, and aware, too, for the first time for
+years, of a longing now and again to be a better lad, more like
+pure-hearted, gentle little Phil; for there was growing up in his heart
+for this friend and fellow-sufferer of his, a great love such as he had
+not hitherto thought he could feel for anyone.
+
+The truest of all books tells us that even a child is known by his
+doings, whether they be pure and whether they be right; and Tad, so
+strong in his self-will, and so weak in temptation, had taken knowledge
+of his little friend, and had come to know that in this frail boy there
+was a certain moral strength wanting in himself.
+
+And now an occasional glance at Phil's small, pale face as the white
+moonlight fell upon it set Tad wondering why this child was so
+different from himself, and whether the events of this night would
+bring to them both serious consequences, or leave them as they found
+them.
+
+He was still deep in thought when the cart stopped. For some time it
+had been driven across what looked like a common, a wide open space,
+with no buildings of any sort upon it; but now the halt was made at a
+little gate, almost hidden by the bushy growth of underwood and young
+trees forming a copse, which began where the common ended, and which,
+though bare and leafless now, cast a deep shadow over the road.
+
+In silence the driver and his companion got down from the front seat,
+and Renard and the boys from the back. Tad noticed that the man Paul
+took from under the seat a small canvas bag, in which some things
+rattled, and also a little parcel which he slipped into his coat
+pocket. The boys looked at each other, a vague horror and fear dawning
+in their faces—a foreboding of danger.
+
+Summoning up his sinking courage, Tad touched Renard on the arm, and
+said in a whisper:
+
+"Master, where may this path lead, and what are we goin' to do?"
+
+Renard turned upon him sharply.
+
+"Dat's not you beezness," he replied. "You keep wid me and speak not."
+And taking the boys by the arm, one on each side, he strode on behind
+the driver and his mate, their feet making no sound on the moss-grown
+pathways along the deep shadows of which Paul now and again turned the
+light of a lantern, so that the little party could see where they were
+going.
+
+Presently the copse ended in another gateway which led into a garden,
+and here, with flower-beds and ornamental trees all round it, in a
+situation which, in summer time, must have been beautiful indeed, stood
+an old-fashioned, quaint, two-storeyed house. A wing, on the right of
+the building, extended as far as what apparently was a stable yard, for
+it was divided from the garden by a wall and a high gate. As the men
+and lads stood—still within the shadow of the trees—looking about them,
+the deep growl and bark of a large dog sounded from the further side of
+the wall.
+
+"Hark at that!" whispered Renard to Paul. "It must cease or our journey
+is fruitless."
+
+"It shall cease," replied the man; "have I not come prepared?"
+
+And he drew the parcel from his pocket, and out of it a piece of red,
+raw meat.
+
+Slipping off his shoes, and signing to his companions to follow his
+example, he trod noiselessly across the gravel-walk, and reaching the
+gate in a few strides, flung the meat over.
+
+There was a little fierce rush and growl, a savage snap of powerful
+jaws and click of hungry teeth, then a muffled, choking howl, a
+smothered groan, and silence.
+
+After waiting a minute or two, Paul stole back to the little group
+still standing in the deep shadow.
+
+"That one will bark no more," remarked he. "Now come—there is nothing
+to fear. The monsieur and his lady are quite old, and there are only
+women servants in the place. Follow me."
+
+And Paul led the way round the house to the back, where a little
+scullery or wash-house was built out into the garden, with the kitchen
+apparently behind it. In the wall of the scullery, a small window was
+open.
+
+Paul now whispered a few words in Renard's ear. And the latter nodded
+and said, "Oui, parfaitement," then turned to the boys, who stood by
+wondering what was coming next.
+
+For a minute or so, old Foxy looked first at one of the lads, then at
+the other, then back at the window, as though measuring with his eye
+the available space. At last, making up his mind, he leaned forward,
+and spoke in Phil's ear:
+
+"Philipe, you shall go in dere, and tro' de house, and you weel for us
+open de big door or a weendow if de door be deeficult. Hear you?"
+
+Phil did not answer.
+
+Tad's scared eyes were fixed upon his friend's face, and he saw the
+thin cheeks blanch, but the boy's gaze, fixed upon Foxy, was clear and
+steadfast, and his pale lips were resolute.
+
+"Ma foi! Why answer you not, Philipe?" said his master, after a
+moment's silence. "Hear you?"
+
+"Yes, master, I hear," replied the boy, in a low, firm voice that
+somehow thrilled Tad to the heart.
+
+"Den do wat I tell. Go in dere!" And Renard pointed a crooked
+forefinger at the window. "Queek, queek!" added he, as Phil did not
+stir, "or you weel be sorry." And a threatening look in the man's dark,
+evil face gave emphasis to his words.
+
+Tad held his breath with a strange, mingled feeling of horror, wonder,
+and admiration, as he saw his little companion draw himself up, and
+look straight and unfaltering into Foxy's green eyes. Another moment,
+and the childish voice said firmly:
+
+"No, master, I will not go."
+
+"Wat is dat you say? You weel not?" said Foxy in an angry whisper. "But
+wait a leetle, it am you dat shall pay later, when old Renard give you
+de steek." Then he turned to Tad and said: "You did hear me wat I say
+to Philipe; well now I tell you same. Go you in dere and open to us,
+Edouard."
+
+Tad met his cruel master's wicked, green eyes, then glanced at Paul
+and Jean, who were impatiently waiting. The lad's courage was a poor
+one at best, and though he well knew that the crime of burglary was
+intended, and that he was required to help the burglars, he would never
+have found strength to withstand the pressure put upon him, had not
+Phil just at that moment laid his little, frail hand on his friend's
+shoulder and said:
+
+"Brave it out, Tad! Don't give in!" And then Tad heard the boy add
+under his breath: "O Lord, please help us, and save us from being
+wicked."
+
+"Wed you go in dere?" hissed Foxy again.
+
+"Will I?" repeated Tad, shamed out of his cowardice by Phil's example.
+"Will I, master? No, then—I just won't, so there!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+GOOD-BYE TO FOXY
+
+RENARD turned in a white rage towards the men, Paul and Jean, who were
+standing impatiently waiting for the result of the parley with the two
+lads.
+
+"What can I do?" he whispered, his utterance thick with passion. "One
+cannot use force; there might be an outcry which would rouse the whole
+house. What then is to be done?"
+
+Paul advanced a step and pushed him aside.
+
+"Since you have failed, Renard, in your half of the bargain," said he,
+"you cannot expect to share in the profits. Go away now, you and these
+useless boys of yours."
+
+"But Paul," exclaimed Foxy, "did I not—"
+
+"No," interrupted Paul, "I will hear nothing."
+
+And Jean added:
+
+"Enough, Renard; go without more words. Your belongings which are in
+the cart we will leave at No. 9 in the village to-morrow. There—that is
+all we have to say to you—now go."
+
+With a snarl of savage disappointment and rage, Renard, taking the boys
+by the arm, led them away down the dark, shady walk by which they had
+come, and out once more into the road, where, under the shadow of two
+great trees, stood the cart and the patient horse.
+
+"Oh, but you weel pay for dis, mine sweet boys!" muttered Renard, as
+he dragged the reluctant lads along. "Yes, you weel pay for dis—as
+de English say—tro' de nose. Dis night you have make me lose lot of
+moneys, and old Renard, he forgives not; dat you shall remember for
+effer. Amen."
+
+A village well-known to Foxy was not far distant, and towards this he
+now led the two boys, muttering awful threats in mingled French and
+English, and swearing horribly under his breath. When they hung back,
+or for a moment struggled to free themselves, his cruel clutches forced
+them on.
+
+In this fashion the village was reached, a place which at this hour
+looked like a little city of the dead, for there was not a light in the
+one straggling street of which the hamlet consisted. But Renard went
+straight to a small house standing back a few paces from the crooked
+thoroughfare in a narrow strip of weed-grown garden. Here he knocked
+in a peculiar way—not at the door, but at the window, and in a minute
+or two the door was opened to him. A few words passed between him and
+the man who opened the door, then Renard and the boys were shown into a
+room on the ground floor, where were two straw mattresses and a couple
+a three-legged stools and a table.
+
+Setting down the candle which the owner of the house had given him,
+Foxy locked the door, and pulled off his rusty overcoat, first drawing
+from one of the pockets a coil of stout cord. Then sitting down on one
+of the stools, he proceeded to twist and knot this cord, until he had
+fashioned out of it a kind of rough cat-o'-nine-tails or scourge. But
+he glanced up now and again, and the malignant look on his ugly face—a
+mingling of frown and leer, full of evil triumph and covert menace—sent
+a shudder of fearful expectation through the chilled forms of the two
+lads huddled together on one of the straw mattresses.
+
+In a few minutes the instrument of punishment was completed, and
+Renard, getting up from his seat, came towards the bed, and brandishing
+his scourge, said to Tad:
+
+"Now, Edouard, hark to me! You shall take this wiep and you weel beat
+Philipe teel I tell you assez—enough. And as for you, Philipe, put off
+your coat, dat do wiep may work well. So! Allons! Begeen, and forget
+not dat you master is—"
+
+"What!" cried Tad, aghast. "What, master! You want me to set upon this
+poor little chap and flog him? You don't mean it—you can't!"
+
+"Mais certainement I mean it!" replied Foxy, showing his teeth. "Take
+dis wiep of cords and beat well Philips, or—" and the man's face
+assumed a yet more evil and threatening aspect.
+
+"Don't anger him no more, dear Tad," said Phil in a whisper. "Do as he
+tells you. I can bear it. I ain't afeared of a thrashin' that I haven't
+deserved. There, I'm quite ready, and you'll see I won't cry nor make a
+sound."
+
+But Tad that night had learned a great lesson while he stood with the
+burglars outside the little window of the outhouse. He had seen this
+gentle little lad brave the utmost that three villains could do to
+him, rather than commit a crime in obedience to their commands—a crime
+of which, but for Phil's example, Tad felt that he himself should
+certainly have been guilty.
+
+And now—could he inflict pain upon this brave child, for fear of
+anything Renard could do? No—the lesson had not been lost upon the lad.
+True he had been on the downward track ever since he ran away from
+home, but here was the chance for a step up. Once more a chance lay
+before him, and his resolve was taken.
+
+Pulling himself together, he rose and faced Renard, looking full in the
+cruel green eyes without flinching.
+
+"Master," said he firmly, "Phil is little, and I'm big, and what's
+more, he haven't done nothin' wrong, and I ain't a-goin' to lay a
+finger on him—not for you nor no one. I won't—no matter what you say
+nor what you do."
+
+For a minute old Foxy stared at the lad, hardly able to believe his own
+ears. But when Tad repeated: "I wouldn't do master, not if it were ever
+so," the man raised his sinewy right arm and with a blasphemous oath
+struck him down upon the mattress where Phil was lying. Then snatching
+up the scourge which he had dropped for a moment in the surprise of
+Tad's refusal to obey him, he began to use it upon both the boys,
+Tad managing to cover his little friend, now and again, with his own
+broader back, thus shielding him from many a blow.
+
+The flogging went on till Renard's arm was tired and weak. Then he
+flung the instrument of torture aside, and going back to the corner
+where he had thrown his coat, he drew out of one of its capacious
+pockets a bottle of spirit, and sitting down upon the second mattress,
+began to drink, muttering ominously the while.
+
+We have said that, as a rule, Foxy only became more excited and furious
+the more he took, and that he managed to stop short of the helpless
+stage. But this night, either because he was more weary than usual, or
+that he had a greater craving for the stimulant in which he habitually
+indulged, he went on drinking steadily until he passed from the raving
+and excited stage into a drunken stupor, and at last rolled over on the
+straw couch quite unconscious, the now empty bottle escaping from his
+listless hand.
+
+For a little while Tad and Phil lay still. Sore and aching all over,
+they had eagerly watched their master in the various stages of his
+intoxication, and now they half feared lest he should be only shamming,
+to see what they would do.
+
+But at last his stertorous breathing convinced the lads that he was in
+a stupor. Tad was the first to sit up, and Phil, glancing at him, was
+frightened at the expression of his friend's face. The eyes were hard
+and sullen, the mouth rigid, and a dogged scowl was sot deep between
+the brows.
+
+"Now at last," said Tad with a gasp, "we can take some kind of revenge
+upon that brute for all he's made us suffer. I'd like to kill him—I
+would; he deserves it. But I suppose we must be content with robbin'
+him. Where does he keep the tin, Phil?"
+
+The younger lad caught Tad's arm with a look of fear and horror. "Are
+you crazy, Tad?" he whispered. "Do you want to be as wicked as he is?
+After standin' out agen bein' burglars, are we goin' to be common
+thieves! Think, Tad—only think a moment! You must be well-nigh off your
+head, dear old boy, to speak of such a thing."
+
+"But we may never have such a chance again, Phil," said Tad.
+
+"Yes, that's true; and so let's clear out, and run away from Foxy.
+Better starve or die of cold alone and out in the open than live longer
+with this brute. Come, Tad—come quick, afore he wakes up."
+
+"But we can't get out," whispered the elder lad. "Foxy locked the door,
+and the key's in his right trouser pocket, and he's lyin' on that side;
+we can't get it nohow."
+
+"Then we'll get out at the winder," replied Phil. "See, it opens down
+the middle, and we can just squeeze through. Be quick, Tad; Foxy's
+snorin' like a hog now, but he may wake at any time."
+
+Picking up their coats and caps, the boys opened the window, and just
+managed to get through, though for Tad it was a pretty tight fit.
+
+Then away they went, lame, battered, and sore with their recent blows,
+but running at their best pace down the dark, crooked street, pausing
+not even to take breath, until they found themselves well outside the
+village, with miles of quiet open country stretching away before them,
+and a faint dawn just streaking the far-off east.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+A FRIEND AND AN ENEMY
+
+"THERE'S one thing I wish we'd been able to do," said Phil, as soon as
+he could get breath enough to speak.
+
+"And what's that?" asked Tad.
+
+"Warn the people at that house we went to rob, and let 'em know there
+was burglars about," replied Phil. "I never thought of it till now, but
+we might have set up a screech or a loud whistle just to wake folks,
+and maybe frighten Paul and Jean and Foxy."
+
+"Why, you silly, we'd only have been murdered if we'd done that," said
+Tad.
+
+"All the same," rejoined Phil the uncompromising, "I think we ought to
+have done it."
+
+"Well, we can't help ourselves now," remarked Tad, with a sigh of
+relief, for his was not a martyr's spirit, and it had never occurred to
+him to reproach himself until Phil suggested that they had neglected
+their duty.
+
+"No," he repeated, "we can't help ourselves now; it's hours since we
+left them fellows, and any mischief as was to be done has been done
+already. So it's no good goin' back, to say nothin' of our bein' sure
+to meet Foxy."
+
+Phil shuddered.
+
+"We mustn't get into his hands no more, whatever happens," said he;
+"but he'll try and catch us, you may be sure, Tad."
+
+"Yes," assented Tad, "we know too much about him not to be dangerous
+now we've run away. So of course he'll want to find us, and we'll have
+to look out."
+
+"We'd better not keep to the high roads in the daytime," said Phil; "if
+we do, he's sure to track us sooner or later."
+
+"The thing is, what can we do? Where can we go?" muttered Tad more to
+himself than to his companion. "Have you any money, Phil?"
+
+"Not a sou, Tad."
+
+"Nor I. And how we're to get food and shelter, or find work to keep us,
+goodness knows."
+
+"God knows," corrected Phil gravely, "and it's a comfort He does know.
+But now come on, Tad; we must put some miles between us and old Foxy
+afore the next few hours is over."
+
+For another half-hour they trudged along the road, talking busily, and
+trying to form some plan of action for the future. By this time the sun
+was rising, and the tardy winter morn had begun.
+
+"We must take to the fields now," said Phil. "We mustn't be seen on the
+road by any folks goin' to market, for old Foxy will be sure to ask
+everybody he meets if they've seen us, and if they had, why, it would
+end in our bein' nabbed. Come along, Tad!"
+
+So the boys left the highway, and clambering over a gate, walked along
+a strip of low marsh-land, which was, however, dry now with the frost.
+
+Here, sheltered from view by the hedge, they followed the windings of
+the road for some distance, feeling quite safe. But as the morning
+advanced, and the excitement of their escape subsided, the pangs of
+hunger and thirst became almost intolerable. And when they spied in the
+distance a little house standing among trees, they resolved to go there
+and beg for something to eat.
+
+As they approached nearer, they saw that the house was not an ordinary
+cottage, but a substantial and neatly built, though small, building of
+two storeys. It had a stable and coach-house at the back, and a little
+yard where cocks and hens were crowing and clucking over a feed of
+grain just thrown out to them.
+
+A pale, dark-eyed, sad-faced woman answered the timid knock at the door
+which Tad gave.
+
+"What would you, my children?" she asked gently. "You look weary and
+ill. What ails you? Tell me!" And her kind eyes rested with a wondering
+pity upon Phil, whose thin, patient, white little face appealed to her
+motherly heart.
+
+"We are starving, madame," said Tad, in the queer French he had picked
+up during his short stay in France; "and we have not a sou to buy
+bread. Will you, of your goodness, give us something to eat, that we
+may have strength to pursue our journey?"
+
+"Oui, certainement," replied the woman kindly. "Come into my kitchen,
+children; there sit down by the hearth, and warm yourselves, while I
+make ready for you."
+
+Soon a plentiful meal of hot milk and bread, and thick pancakes of
+buckwheat flour, was put before them. As the famished lads ate and
+drank their fill, their hospitable hostess paused now and again in
+her work, to smile at them approvingly, and heap their plates, and
+replenish their cups with a fresh supply of food and drink.
+
+At last the cravings of appetite were satisfied, and seeing how weary
+and sleepy the boys looked, the good woman said:
+
+"Listen, my children; I can see that you need rest; indeed one would
+think you had had no sleep all night. Now there is clean straw laid on
+the floor of my apple room, at the back of the house. Would you not
+like to lie down there and rest—both of you—for a few hours?"
+
+"Ah yes, indeed we should, madame!" cried Tad.
+
+"And thank you, oh, thank you for your goodness!" said Phil, glancing
+up gratefully with wistful, moistened eyes. For after all that the boys
+had known of late of hardship, privation, and above all of cruelty—they
+could hardly accept without tears, the motherly kindness of this
+gentle-hearted stranger.
+
+She led them to the back of the house, and opening a door, ushered
+them into the little room where the winter fruit stores were kept. On
+shelves round the walls were arranged, in tidy rows, on clean paper,
+rosy-cheeked apples, and hard, sound, brownish-green baking pears,
+while on the straw in one corner reposed several enormous golden
+pumpkins. Dried herbs of many kinds hung in bunches from strings
+carried across the room just below the rafters of the low roof, and
+little lath boxes of various seeds had a small shelf all to themselves.
+But on the floor, at the corner of the room furthest from the door, was
+a thick mass of fresh straw and hay, dry and fragrant, and to this the
+woman pointed.
+
+"Lie down there, my children," she said, "and sleep as long as you
+will."
+
+As they crept thankfully into their cosy bed, she went and fetched
+a horse-blanket and covered them carefully with such sweet, womanly
+tenderness, that Phil caught her hand and kissed it, and Tad looked
+up into the kind, sad face, his own softened and made beautiful by
+gratitude. Then with a gentle "Sleep well, my children!" their new
+friend left them to their repose.
+
+The boys must have slept about eight hours, for when they awoke it
+seemed to be late in the afternoon. The sun was no longer shining
+in through the slats of the shutter window; indeed the daylight
+appeared already to be on the wane. Moreover, a voice which somehow
+was familiar, and dreamily associated in their minds with something
+distinctly unpleasant, sounded in their ears, and presently roused them
+to full consciousness.
+
+"Hark!" whispered Tad. "What's that?"
+
+And the boy sat up, the old, fearful, hunted look coming back into the
+face just lately so serene in sleep.
+
+"It's someone talkin' with the woman, ain't it?" said Phil.
+
+"Yes—but don't you know the voice?" gasped Tad. "It's that man Paul,
+one of them burglars."
+
+"What shall we do?" cried Phil. "Has he come after us?"
+
+"No, no," rejoined Tad; "but p'raps this is where he lives, and maybe
+he's just got home. Listen, Phil; we'd better be quite sure it's he,
+and if the woman's told him anything, afore we makes up our mind what
+to do."
+
+Still as mice, the lads lay buried in the straw under the blanket, and
+listened breathlessly. Part of the talk they could not hear, only a low
+murmur of two voices reaching their ears.
+
+But at last the man's voice said distinctly:
+
+"Enough, Claudine; why waste my time and patience with those
+everlasting remonstrances of thine? See here, could all thy industry or
+mine, year in, year out, win such a pretty bauble as this?"
+
+Here there was a pause, as though the man were showing the woman
+something. Then he went on:
+
+"Let me put it about thy neck, my dear! Why dost thou draw back? It is
+but a plain gold cross and chain such as any woman may wear; take it!"
+
+"Never, Paul," replied the woman's voice passionately. "Never will I
+wear stolen goods. Oh, my husband!—" And here her voice broke, and she
+went on sobbingly, "thou art breaking my heart and spoiling my life
+and thine own. Think how happy we were only a short time ago, before
+the evil days of thy friendship with Jean Michel and his companions!
+Why not be content with honest labour, instead of living in fear and
+remorse as we must? For this is now the third time that thou hast
+returned from a bad night's work, bringing me gifts which I can but
+refuse as accursed things."
+
+Paul laughed a little hard laugh.
+
+"The things I bring home are but a little love-token for thee,
+Claudine. The rest of our booty finds its way to the smelting-pot
+of our Hebrew friends in the town, and thenceforth tells no tales.
+And as for my safety, wife, no fears. We work in crape masks, and we
+cover our tracks with skill. The only danger is now and then from our
+accomplices."
+
+"And how so?" questioned Claudine.
+
+Then the man told his wife how he and Jean had been joined by Renard
+and his lads on the previous night, and how, at the last moment, the
+boys had refused to do their master's bidding, so that Renard and they
+had been ordered off as worse than useless for the job they had in hand.
+
+"And the danger is," added Paul, "lest that dirty old rascal or one of
+the brats should carry some story about us to the police, just out of
+spite. As it was, we had a great deal of needless trouble. Had the boys
+been content to enter and open to us, all would have been so simple,
+so easy. But since they refused, we were forced to break in, and this
+made noise, and some of the household were roused, so that we could not
+get all we had hoped; and this, after our precautions, and our clever
+poisoning of the dog, was too bad! Ah!" added Paul fiercely. "Could
+I but lay hands on those two little rascals, I would teach them to
+disobey again!"
+
+"Did they then refuse to enter and open to thee and thy companions,
+Paul?" asked the woman.
+
+"Yes, they said they would not go, and even the threats of their master
+availed not; and we could not use force for fear of an outcry."
+
+"Tell me, what like were the lads?" inquired Claudine. "Were they small
+or big? French or—"
+
+"Why, wife, what makes then so curious about a matter that, of a
+truth, concerns thee not?" said Paul suspiciously. "Thou art never
+likely to set eyes upon the young miscreants. That greedy old
+bag-of-bones—Renard, the thief, mountebank, tailor, tinker, and what
+not—has got the lads, body and soul, and he is not likely to let them
+out of his sight."
+
+"Are they French?" asked Claudine again.
+
+"No, certainly not. With their master they spoke the English tongue,
+and a hard, jaw-breaking, cursed language it is too. One of the boys
+was little with a pale face, and the other taller, with a big round
+head like one of thine own pumpkins, Claudine. Ah, let me but catch
+them, the young monkeys! And in the space of ten minutes, no one should
+know them for the same children."
+
+To this the woman made no reply that the lads could hear; but they had
+heard enough to make them look at each other in renewed fear and horror.
+
+"We can't stay here another moment, Phil," whispered Tad. "We must go."
+
+The slatted, wooden shutter which served as a window was only fastened
+by a hook on one side. Tad stole across the straw-covered floor,
+slipped the hook out of the ring, and the shutter swung open. Swiftly
+and noiselessly the boys got out, and found themselves in a small back
+garden communicating by a gate with the yard, and divided only by a low
+fence from a lane, the tall, bare trees of which they could see rising
+above the fence. To clamber over, and drop down into the lane on the
+other side, was the work of a moment. Then away—away, in the fading
+light, as though flying for their lives—sped the two poor lads, once
+more fugitives and vagabonds in a strange land.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+UNEXPECTED NEWS
+
+THE plentiful meal and long sleep obtained through Claudine's
+hospitality and kindness, had done the lads good service. And when they
+recovered from their excitement and first dread of pursuit, and found
+themselves clear of the neighbourhood of the house, they felt strong
+enough to push on at a fair pace. The darkness was coming so rapidly,
+that the boys thought they might with perfect safety keep to the road.
+Along the road accordingly they trudged, looking carefully about them,
+however, and ready to hide under a hedge or crouch in a ditch, or dodge
+behind a tree at the wayside, at the least sound or threatening of
+danger.
+
+It was about eight o'clock, and they were beginning to think of making
+a halt for a rest of half an hour or so, when a slow, heavy rumbling of
+wheels along the highway made them look round.
+
+"Why, Phil," said Tad, "it's some of them travellin' carts the tramps
+and gipsies use, ain't it?"
+
+"Looks like 'em," replied Phil. "I wonder if the people would give us a
+lift just to the next town or wherever it is they're goin'!"
+
+"Let's ask 'em," said Tad. "See, there's the first cart quite near."
+
+"Shall we go and speak to that man walkin' at the horse's head?" asked
+Phil.
+
+"You go, Phil. You speak their lingo best," rejoined Tad.
+
+Phil accordingly left his companion's side, and stepping into the
+middle of the road, bade the man a very courteous good evening, adding:
+
+"My friend and I are very weary, monsieur, having come far. Would you
+have the goodness to suffer us to ride in one of your carts for a
+little way?"
+
+"Certainly, my child, with pleasure," replied the old fellow kindly.
+"Get in here. My wife Sophie and a friend of hers are inside, but there
+is still plenty of room. The carts coming behind are for the most part
+full of children and the things we are taking to sell at a fair."
+
+So saying, the old man stopped the horse, and the lads clambered into
+the cart, where they were kindly received by the two women, who were
+busily employed weaving rush baskets by the light of a little oil lamp.
+
+"Sit down there, my children," said Sophie, pointing to a sort of
+bench which extended the whole length of the cart, like the seat of an
+omnibus.
+
+"Maybe the boys are hungry," suggested the other woman, "and we cannot
+get supper till we find a good place for camping out."
+
+"Give them some bread to stay their hunger till then, Pelagie,"
+answered Sophie.
+
+And presently the lads were each munching away at a substantial hunch
+of bread sprinkled with salt.
+
+On jolted the cart, followed by three others, but it was ten o'clock
+that night before the caravan came to a place suitable for an
+encampment. Tad and Phil, grateful for the kindness shown them, and
+delighted to make themselves useful, helped to unharness the horses,
+and tether them to stakes which they drove into the ground. They
+brought water from a little stream, and gathered together, from under
+the trees by the roadside, a quantity of dead wood for a fire.
+
+The spot that had been chosen for camping out, was a tract of waste
+land between two hills of limestone rock. The place was strewn with
+stones, but was quite dry, and the fire blazed up merrily, shedding a
+welcome warmth, for the night was cold.
+
+Over this fire, as soon as it burned clear and hot, the huge soup-pot
+was hung. Into it had been put a big lump of the prepared spiced and
+salted lard (a mixture of beef and hog's fat clarified and cured) of
+which the Norman peasantry make their usual soup.
+
+Then as the grease melted in the pot, vegetables of several sorts were
+added, but chiefly potatoes, onions, and winter cabbage, with all the
+stale crusts and odds and ends of food remaining over from the day's
+rations. The pot was then filled up with water, a handful of salt mixed
+with peppercorns being thrown in. And soon this wonderful mixture was
+simmering musically over the fire, emitting a very savoury odour.
+
+While waiting for supper to be ready, some of the grown-up people
+belonging to the caravan drew to the fire, and sat down on the short,
+dry stubble.
+
+The children were already asleep in the waggons. A few of the women
+took out their knitting and worked their long needles rapidly, the
+bright steel gleaming in the fitful flare of the firelight. The men fed
+their horses, for there was not grass enough for their food, and went
+round looking for more wood to feed the fire, or sat in the circle,
+shaping garden sticks and broom-handles to sell at the fair.
+
+As for Tad and Phil, when there seemed to be nothing further for them
+to do, they came and joined the cosy party round the fire, seating
+themselves between kind old Sophie and Pelagie.
+
+At first there was a great deal of jabbering going on, but nothing to
+arrest the attention of the lads.
+
+But suddenly Phil caught Tad's arm, and whispered, "Listen, Tad! What's
+the woman saying?"
+
+Tad listened accordingly, and having learned enough now of the
+Normandy patois French to understand what was said, when he paid close
+attention, he at once became interested. For a woman of the party had
+said to old Sophie:
+
+"I forgot to ask thee, Sophie, did a letter reach thee from Angleterre,
+from thy daughter, as we passed through the town?"
+
+"Yes, Dieu merci, it did, and it was a letter that made my old heart
+glad."
+
+"And how so, Sophie, if one may ask?"
+
+"Ay, tell us!" cried another voice. "Thou knowest well, good mother,
+that all that interests thee has interest also for us."
+
+"After the last letter that came, I told you, did I not, my friends,"
+said the old woman, "how unhappy my poor child was?"
+
+"Yes, but not wherefore she was so vexed in spirit," replied Bernadine,
+a big woman with a baby in her arms. "Was that English gipsy husband of
+hers unkind to her?"
+
+"No, no, Bernadine; from the time that Jake the gipsy saw and loved my
+Marie when she was in service over there, he has been as kind as any
+husband could be, and for love of him she is more than half English
+already; but—"
+
+"Ay, good mother, tell us! What?"
+
+But what the good mother had to tell we must leave to the next chapter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+OLD MEMORIES AND A NEW IDEA
+
+"SHE lost her little one when it was six months old," answered the old
+woman, "and she was grieving and pining, and well-nigh heart-broken,
+when one day le bon Dieu sent her, in a strange, unlooked-for way,
+another child!"
+
+"How so, Sophie? Tell us, good mother!"
+
+The old woman went on:
+
+"It was like this, my friends. The gipsy troupe into which my daughter
+Marie married, were encamped one day on a common, and thither came a
+lad with an infant in his arms. Towards evening, he sauntered up to the
+camp and met Marie, and asked her if she would take care of the baby
+for a while, he having business elsewhere. Marie gladly took the child,
+having no thought then but to give it back when its young guardian
+returned.
+
+"But night came on, and the old gipsy chief gave the word to move on,
+and the boy had not returned. And then arose the great longing in
+Marie's heart to keep the baby boy—did I say it was a boy?—to comfort
+her for the loss of her own infant. She yielded to the temptation, and
+the troupe left the neighbourhood that night, the stranger child with
+them, and Marie's sore heart has healed now she has a little one in her
+arms again. Albeit she writes me that she cannot but think sometimes of
+the child's mother, who may be sorrowing even yet over the loss of her
+baby."
+
+During the story Tad clutched Phil's arm.
+
+"Only think of that," he whispered. "Ain't it just wonderful?"
+
+"Hush," said Phil, "let's hear it out."
+
+"Said thy daughter nought of coming over to France to see thee?" asked
+the big Bernadine.
+
+"Pardon; yes she did say that she and her husband were trying to scrape
+together money enough to bring her over, for it is three full years
+since she left with the English family, and she is a dutiful daughter,
+God be thanked, and would fain see her old parents again."
+
+"And will it be soon, thinkest thou, good mother?"
+
+"I cannot tell for sure, but it may be soon. The troupe are near
+Southampton now, and thence, I have heard, sail many English vessels
+for la France. But who knows if Marie will get the money for her
+voyage?"
+
+"Knowest thou, mother Sophie," said a man who had not hitherto spoken a
+word, "that if Marie be caught by the police of the country, she could
+be severely punished for stealing that child?"
+
+"Ah, sayest thou so, Pierre?"
+
+"Yes, it is a dangerous thing to do, and I wonder much that she has
+escaped till now."
+
+"She wrote me that, for safety's sake, she burned all the little boy's
+clothes, and dressed him in her own baby's things. And also, for the
+first month, she coloured his skin and hair with walnut juice and
+water, to make him dark like her own child. After that the troupe moved
+so far away, that she thought all danger was past."
+
+"Without doubt she was right," said Pierre; "indeed it has proved so,
+since—but stay—who is that approaching us across the open, from the
+road?"
+
+"It is a man—a stranger," said Bernadine.
+
+"An old man he looks, by the light of the moon," said Sophie.
+
+"Perhaps he is cold and hungry," suggested old Jacques, Sophie's
+husband. "If so, he is welcome to a share of our fire and our supper."
+
+But just then Tad glanced in the direction of the newcomer, and gave a
+smothered gasp.
+
+"Oh look, Phil, look!" he said.
+
+And Phil looked and rose instantly to his feet, followed by Tad. The
+younger boy turned to Sophie.
+
+"Good mother, we thank and bless you for your goodness to us, poor
+stranger boys," he said, "and we ask of you one more favour. This man
+who now is coming towards us is a wicked, cruel master, from whom,
+after sore treatment, we have only just escaped. If he catches us, he
+will surely kill us. So we must go away at once, and we entreat you,
+betray us not. Say not that two boys were here but now. He cannot have
+seen us yet; so far we are safe; so, for the love of heaven, tell him
+naught."
+
+"Fear not, my poor children, he shall know nothing from me, nor indeed
+from any of us; eh, my friends?"
+
+"That is so, good mother."
+
+"Then good-night, my boys, and may God guard you!"
+
+The next moment the two lads, parting from the circle round the dancing
+firelight, had vanished into the darkness.
+
+As the poor lads fled once more from the approach of the old enemy,
+they were at first almost in despair. And no wonder; for they had
+believed themselves out of reach of pursuit at last. And now to see
+that wicked old Foxy apparently tracking them like a sleuthhound, was a
+dreadful thing.
+
+But as their fear gradually subsided, they began to feel that Renard's
+appearance among the French gipsies was no indication what over of his
+knowing where they (Tad and Phil) were; and that, had he seen them
+sitting with their hospitable entertainers round the fire, he would
+probably have been to the full as much surprised as they had been to
+see him.
+
+But it gave the lads a renewed sense of danger to have caught sight,
+even for a moment, of the man who had shown himself so treacherous a
+companion, so cruel a master, and it was not strange that Tad presently
+said despondingly:
+
+"It's no go, Phil, we'll never be safe till we're out of France."
+
+"Out of France? That's easier said than done," rejoined Phil. "And how
+are we to get out of this country?"
+
+"I don't know, I'm sure! That's the worst of it. We seem headed off
+all round. But I did hear that this road leads to St. Malo, and that
+English vessels is always comin' in and out of there. There may p'r'aps
+be some chance for us, Phil, if we get to St. Malo."
+
+"That's just what old Foxy's reckonin' upon our thinkin'," replied
+Phil, "and that's why he's come along this road after us, I should say.
+And he'll have a much better chance to nab us down at St. Malo than
+he's had here in the country, where there's always places to hide in.
+It's risky, and just think how long we might have to stay in the town
+before we'd a chance of crossin' over to England—if ever the chance
+came at all."
+
+"Ay, I didn't think of that," answered Tad. "I wish we was back in
+Granville, I do; I'd like to turn in our tracks this minute and go
+right back there. Renard would never think of our doin' that, and would
+go on to St. Malo lookin' for us. At Granville, p'raps we might see
+Captain Jeremiah Jackson again with his schooner; he that picked me up
+when I was floatin' about in a open boat."
+
+"But dare you think of goin' back to England at all?" asked Phil.
+"After what you've told me, I shouldn't think you'd want to go home.
+Think of your stepmother, Tad, and the police that was after you for
+takin' away your little brother!"
+
+In his longing to get away from the dangers and troubles that beset
+him in France, Tad had forgotten those that drove him from his native
+place, and were still awaiting him there. Now he was silent for some
+time, turning things over in his mind. What Phil said was true, only
+too true. Hard as things had been for him in France, they would be
+worse still in England, unless indeed he could do something to deserve
+and ensure a welcome at home, and also prove to the police that he had
+not been guilty of any crime with regard to his little brother.
+
+"You're right enough, Phil," he said at last. "There's one thing, and
+only one, that would make it possible for me to go home."
+
+"And what's that?" asked Phil.
+
+"Just this, kidnappin' that child again, and carryin' of him home to
+his mother."
+
+Phil shook his head.
+
+"That's a hard nut to crack," said he. "And I don't see much chance
+myself of your goin' to England now or ever, if it hangs on gettin'
+hold of the baby again. Oh Tad, what a pity you didn't begin your
+runnin' away from home quite by yourself; it's havin' had that baby for
+the one day, as has made all the mischief."
+
+Again Tad was silent. Phil's words were quite true; he knew now how
+very dearly he had paid for that bit of revenge upon his stepmother.
+Once more he was thinking things over, and going back to the very
+beginning—to the wrong start he had made on that Sunday which now
+seemed so very long ago. The events of the last few days had worked a
+change in the boy. He was beginning dimly to see how, from first to
+last, he had been his own enemy, and how he had himself to thank for
+the worst of his misfortunes.
+
+Phil's influence and example too had shown him, more clearly than he
+had ever perceived it before, the difference between right and wrong,
+while it strengthened the affection which he felt for this child, the
+reverence that he could not withhold, when he thought of the courageous
+soul in so frail a form.
+
+By contrasting what he was beginning to know of himself with the
+estimate he had made of Phil's character, he could not help feeling
+what a cowardly, selfish, contemptible sort of a fellow he had been
+throughout.
+
+"It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks," Jeremiah Jackson had
+said, and Tad had proved to his cost how true these words were. Just
+as some kinds of blindness can only be cured by the surgeon's knife,
+so there are some forms of blindness of the soul, for which the Great
+Physician has to use sharp remedies, ere it can see itself as it is,
+and turn repenting to Him Who alone giveth sight to the spiritually
+blind.
+
+"I'm a bad lot, I am, Phil!" said the boy at length, after a long
+silence, during which he was taking stock of what he was worth, and
+finding how little it amounted to. "Yes, I'm a bad lot, Phil, more's
+the pity!"
+
+"You've been awfully good and kind to me, Tad," replied Phil, turning
+towards him affectionately, and putting a confiding hand through his
+arm. "Yes, you've been like a brother to me, ever since that day at
+Granville when you give me and the monkey your baked dumplin'. What's
+that you're sayin', Tad dear? Do I love you? Rather! Of course I love
+you true and faithful, dear old man."
+
+Tad gulped down a sob.
+
+"I don't deserve it, Phil, and that's the truth," he said humbly; "but
+if you'll keep on doin' of it, I'll try to deserve it. There! That's a
+bargain!"
+
+"Let's try and help each other to be good!" said Phil simply. "Mother
+used to tell me as how, if we chose, we might always have the Lord on
+our side. And if we did have Him, we was more than a match for any
+enemy. Do you remember that story in the Bible, Tad, about 'Lisha,
+when his enemies came and got all round the place where he was? There
+was chariots and horsemen and a great host—all sent to take that one
+poor feller. No wonder his servant was frightened and said, 'Alas, my
+master, how shall we do?' For thinks he to hisself, 'Here we are—the
+two of us—all by our lone; no one to care for us, nor no one to help
+us, and the enemy down there a-spreadin' hisself like a green baize.'
+Do you call to mind the story, Tad?"
+
+"No; go on, Phil."
+
+"Well," said Phil, "then what does 'Lisha do but pray to God to open
+the servant's eyes, and the answer to that there prayer must have come
+mighty quick, for all of a sudden, the man saw plain enough what he'd
+never thought of afore—that the mountain was full of chariots and
+horsemen of fire, round about 'Lisha; and that there was more friends
+than enemies; many more for than agen them. But as mother said," added
+Phil, "God's host were there afore the servant's eyes were opened, only
+he didn't know it. And that's how it is with us sometimes. We think
+we're all alone, because we don't see the chariots and horsemen of fire
+round about us, and we don't understand how much we may be helped, if
+we will, nor how ready the Lord is to hear and answer if we pray."
+
+"I shouldn't wonder if you was right, Phil," said Tad; "howsumdever
+there ain't no 'Lisha nowadays, nor no chariots and horsemen of fire
+to come between old Foxy or Paul and us poor lads—worse luck! And when
+we can't see nothin', it's hard to believe that help's near. But now,
+Phil, I've got a idea, so just you listen and tell me what you think of
+it. Other things bein' equal, we'd like to leave France and get back to
+England, eh?"
+
+"Yes," replied Phil, "I s'pose so."
+
+"Right so far, then. But you see I can't go back unless I can take the
+kid home with me."
+
+"Ay, that's clear enough," assented Phil.
+
+"Well then, here's what I'm a-goin' to propose. Let's go back to them
+tramps, or gipsies, or whatever they are, and ask if they'll let us
+live with them for the present. They're kind people, and if we help
+them all we can, it'll go hard but we'll earn our board and lodgin'."
+
+"Well?" said Phil, feeling that the most important of what Tad had set
+out to say, was unsaid as yet.
+
+"Well," repeated Tad, "my idea was this, that we should stay on with
+them, movin' when and where they did, and livin' their life until—"
+
+"Ah, I see what you mean!" cried Phil. "Until Sophie's daughter, Marie,
+came with the baby, and then—"
+
+"Yes, that's it! Steal the baby again, and cut away," said Tad, "and
+trust to chance for gettin' across the Channel."
+
+But Phil shook his head.
+
+"No," said he firmly, "no more stealin' of babies, nor of nothin' else!
+It would be a wicked and ongrateful thing to do to them, as had been
+good to us, and beside I don't hold with bein' so secret and sly."
+
+"But we want to get hold of the child," argued Tad, "and we can't get
+him onless we take him like that."
+
+"I don't know; maybe we can," replied Phil; "anyway I'd try fair means
+first. And besides, Marie might remember your face, and know you again,
+and then she'd be extra careful not to give you a chance to steal the
+baby."
+
+"I'd not thought of that," said Tad. "Well, Phil, say that we go back
+to old Sophie and Jacques and their people, and live with them, if
+they'll have us, and anyway, if Marie and the baby come or not, we'll
+have time to look about us and think what we'll do next."
+
+"Yes, that's a good plan," replied Phil; "we can't do better as I knows
+of. But while we're talkin' of goin' back to the caravan, here we are
+walkin' on, and gettin' further away every minute."
+
+"That's true; come, let's turn now and go back; but as we may chance to
+meet old Foxy, we'd better crawl along in the shadow of the hedge, one
+behind the other, and not talk at all."
+
+This was slow progress, but the only safe course, as they proved very
+soon. For they heard steps approaching along the road, when they had
+gone a part of their return journey, and in the darkness they heard old
+Renard's heavy, shuffling step, and the low muttering in which—like
+Saul of Tarsus, before his conversion—he seemed to be breathing out
+threatening and slaughter, thus pleasantly beguiling the loneliness
+of the way. That he had other and yet more dangerous consolation too,
+was proved beyond all doubt; for almost opposite to the boys, as they
+crouched trembling under the hedge, Renard paused, and they heard a
+cork taken from a bottle, and then deep swallows of drink; probably the
+stimulant in which his soul chiefly delighted; the new and fiery cognac
+which is reckoned among the worst and most harmful of intoxicants.
+
+Having drunk deeply, Foxy passed on.
+
+But it was not until his footfall had ceased to sound upon the hard
+road, that the lads dared to creep from their hiding-place, and resume
+their journey back to the camp.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+TURNING THE TABLES
+
+IT is said, and with truth, that all, or nearly all, wandering races
+are rich in the grace of hospitality, and these French gipsies, or
+rather tramps of a mixed race, had kind hearts, as Tad and Phil proved.
+
+Poor, outcast, homeless creatures as they were, strangers in a strange
+land, these good people had asked of them but few questions, but made
+the boys heartily welcome, giving them permission to continue with the
+troupe so long as it suited them to do so.
+
+Old Jacques had said, furthermore, when he yielded to the earnest
+entreaty of the lads, "Yes, my children, and I accept your offer of
+service. We are not rich, and we cannot afford to keep anyone in
+idleness. You will therefore work as we do, and be one with us in all
+things, subject also to the laws that govern us. For we have our own
+rules which we strictly enforce, and punishment is inflicted upon all
+those who break them."
+
+The boys had readily promised obedience. Any rule, any yoke of service,
+would be light, and even pleasant, after the miseries of their late
+servitude, and now they gladly resolved to be docile, industrious,
+and helpful. Very soon they found they were taken at their word, and
+that there was no want of employment for anyone willing and able. They
+learned the art of basket-making, Phil's slender hands being specially
+clever in this. They made flower-sticks, clothes-pegs, twig-brooms,
+and broom-handles. They caned chairs, mended kitchen furniture for the
+poor people, and did a little rough tinkering. Phil, too, soon proved
+himself a good hand at weaving big rush hats for farm labourers, and
+very proud he was when he could hand over into good mother Sophie's
+care a handful of coppers, the wages of his industry.
+
+Tad, on the other hand, was just as useful in the heavier and rougher
+work, and in the daily routine duties of the camp. He felt it no
+indignity to be a hewer of wood and drawer of water to the kind people
+who had extended towards him and Phil so generous a helping hand in
+their dire distress and destitution.
+
+Ready in all things else to do the gipsies' bidding, the boys had
+begged that they should never be sent on errands that necessitated
+their going any distance alone. They had told Jacques and Sophie
+enough of their story to bespeak the sympathy and protection of the
+good old couple, and to show them that a meeting with Renard, Paul,
+or Jean might prove dangerous to their freedom, and possibly even to
+their lives. So the lads were kept to duties within the precincts
+of the camp; and in the busy, out-of-door life which they led, they
+lost, after a while, all fear of the evil men, the dread of whose
+reappearance had hitherto haunted them like evil phantoms.
+
+For some time they heard nothing more about Marie and her plans. But
+one day Sophie and Jacques were talking together, and Tad heard what
+was said. The gipsies had decided to go on the next day to St. Malo,
+and encamp in a piece of waste ground about half a mile out of the town.
+
+"At the town post-office, a letter from our daughter will probably be
+awaiting us," Sophie had said, "and let us hope she will soon follow
+it, coming by one of the steamers that bring passengers to this port."
+
+The next day the little procession of gipsy vans passed through the
+town, not stopping, however, anywhere until it reached the open space
+where the troupe could encamp without fear of disturbing anyone, or
+being themselves molested.
+
+One morning Tad and Phil were busy helping Sophie and Pelagie with the
+noonday meal. It was not often these gipsies had meat or poultry of any
+kind, but to-day one of the party had bought from a farmer's man, for a
+mere trifle, an antiquated rooster of venerable aspect, and the whole
+company were in high glee at the thought of adding this dainty to the
+usual soup.
+
+But first old chanticleer must be plucked and cleaned, and Tad was set
+to work at this, while Phil helped to wash turnips and carrots, and
+peel onions and potatoes for the pot-au-feu.
+
+Jacques and one or two of the men had gone into the town to call at
+the post-office and make some necessary purchases, and the rest of the
+troupe were employed about the camp in various ways.
+
+It was one of those mild mornings in March which come sometimes,
+closely following a storm of wind and rain, and which give, in their
+balmy freshness and sweetness, promise of the yet fairer time at hand.
+
+Light-hearted as the birds, the boys were chattering over their work,
+breaking out, now and again, into some fragment of English song, when
+a voice behind them said, "Bon jour, mine cheeldren! So I you have
+found at de last, you were naughty boys. Oh unkind and tankless to run
+yourselves away from de good, kind master, from dis poor old Renard dat
+did lofe you so moche!"
+
+The boys started and turned. Tad, in his horror, almost tumbled the
+ancient fowl—now partially denuded of his scant feathers—into the fire,
+and Phil overturned the big basin of water into which he was putting
+his peeled vegetables.
+
+"Ah, mine leetle dears!" went on Renard with his evil, sneering smile.
+"You am agitate. It is widout doubt from de joy to see once more you
+dear old master. Ah, truly yes. Well now we am discover one anoder,
+you shall bote come back to me, and all weel be as before, but steel
+better. Oh yes, believe me, mine dears, so moche better."
+
+The lads, paralysed with terror, still said nothing, and just at that
+moment, up came old Sophie and Pelagie to see if the provisions in hand
+were ready yet for the big pot which they had filled at the brook. As
+Sophie approached, Tad made a spring, and falling on his knees before
+her, caught her gown.
+
+"Oh dear mother, good mother Sophie, here is this dreadful man!" he
+cried. "It is he—our master of whom we told you! Give us not up to him!
+For God's sake suffer him not to take us away with him!"
+
+Phil said nothing, but he too had come near, and with pleading eyes
+fixed on the old woman's face, awaited her answer.
+
+She put a motherly hand upon each of the boys, and turning to Renard
+said:
+
+"Surely, monsieur, I have seen you before! Did you not come to us some
+nights ago, on the other side of St. Malo?"
+
+"Madame, you are right," replied Renard, doffing his greasy cap and
+making a low bow which had about it an insulting air of mockery.
+
+"And on that occasion," went on Sophie, "you made inquiry respecting
+two lads?"
+
+"I did so, madame; once more you are entirely right."
+
+"Are these the lads then, monsieur?"
+
+"These are they, madame, sans doute. The eye of love—such love as I
+have for these dear petits garcons—" and Foxy showed his teeth—"is not
+to be deceived."
+
+"What then do you want, monsieur, now you have found them?" asked
+Mother Sophie.
+
+"Madame, you are a stranger to me!" cried Foxy. "You know not—how
+should you?—this heart of mine, or you would not make such an inquiry.
+Unworthy, ungrateful as these children are, I am ready (such is my
+magnanimous nature!) to forgive and receive them back into my affection
+and my service."
+
+"Hein, monsieur! Eh bien!" cried the strident voice of Pelagie, who
+had hitherto stood silent. "But what say the boys to this? You say you
+are willing to have them back; now the question is, are they ready to
+return to you? For there should be two sides to a bargain, monsieur, as
+all the world knows."
+
+"You have reason, Pelagie," said Sophie quietly. "What say you, my
+children?" and the old woman's voice softened, and her face grew tender
+and pitiful, as the lads clung to her in their fear and distress. "What
+say you, will you go with Monsieur Renard, your former master?"
+
+"No, no, good mother, never! Never again!" cried both boys at once.
+
+Old Sophie turned once more to Foxy.
+
+"You see, monsieur, that these lads do not wish to avail themselves of
+the kindness you offer them, so there is nothing more to be said, and I
+will wish you bon jour, Monsieur Renard."
+
+Renard's face at this lost its mocking grin, and became dark and
+louring.
+
+"And know you not, you stupid gipsy woman," he shrieked, "that I—Jules
+Renard—have a right to these children? And I swear to you—ugly old hag
+that you are—if you give them not up to me this very minute, I will
+bring the police from, the town, and then, not only will the lads have
+to come with me, but you will be punished for detaining them."
+
+"Ah, Monsieur Renard, if it comes to talk of police, perchance you
+are not the only one who may have somewhat to say," remarked a deep,
+stern voice behind Foxy. And good old Jacques, backed by two of the
+troupe—stalwart nephews of his—appeared on the scene. "Listen, my
+friend; we have information that you, and two worthy companions of
+yours, were more or less concerned in a burglary not very far from
+here, and their names and the home of one of them are known to us. We
+are quiet people, Monsieur Renard, and we seek no quarrel with any; but
+another word from you, another threat against us or these children, and
+at once we give in our information at headquarters at St. Malo. And
+as for your treatment of the boys—there is a law in France to protect
+them, and to punish those who sin against them. Look to yourself, you
+fox by name and fox by nature. Seek not to meddle with these lads, or
+you may find yourself where you would rather not be."
+
+The stern, uncompromising manner and words of the old gipsy seemed to
+make an impression on Renard, who cowered and cringed as the man was
+speaking. But he turned it off lightly, only saying as he turned away:
+
+"That is all nonsense; you could not hurt me if you would. But of
+course I will not press this matter of the boys, if they do not wish to
+return to me. Keep them, if you like to do so, and I wish you joy of
+your bargain. You will repent it some day."
+
+Once more bowing low, cap in hand, and a sardonic leer on his thin
+lips, Renard bade the gipsies good day, while, watching him till out
+of sight on the St. Malo road, Tad and Phil at last dared to breathe
+freely once more.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+TAD HARDENS HIS HEART
+
+"PHIL, Phil, they're just comin'. I'm first, 'cause I ran on before;
+but they're—"
+
+"Who, Tad?" inquired Phil, who was sitting under the shelter of Mother
+Sophie's cart, very busy finishing a huge hat.
+
+"Why, who should it be but Marie and the baby?"
+
+"You don't say!" cried Phil, jumping up.
+
+"You know I went with Father Jacques to St. Malo, this morning,"
+explained Tad. "Well, the chap at the little place on the quay said
+the passengers by the boat 'Princess,' had arrived, and was now in the
+Custom House.
+
+"And says Father Jacques to me, 'My daughter Marie was to come in the
+"Princess." Wait here a moment while I go up to the Custom House.'
+
+"So I waited, and sure enough, the Customs door opened, and out comes
+the woman, and on her arm the little un, growed into quite a big boy,
+and lookin' as though he could run alone as well as me or you."
+
+"Did she see you, Tad?" asked Phil.
+
+"No, I turned sort of sideways so as not to look her in the face.
+
+"But Father Jacques, he calls out to me, 'Here, Edouard, run back to
+the camp and tell the mother we come.'
+
+"So off I goes like a shot, and here I am."
+
+"You've told Mother Sophie?"
+
+"Oh yes, and she and Pelagie set to work to make coffee for Marie. It
+would be tea if we was in England. My eye! Shouldn't I like a good cup
+of tea again!"
+
+"Well now," said Phil, sitting down again to his work, "what do you
+think of doin' about that child?"
+
+"I give it up; ask me another," replied Tad, half vexed, half laughing.
+"Blest if I know what to do! I want to get back to England, and yet I
+can't go home without the child, and—"
+
+"But you won't steal him, will you, Tad?" questioned Phil very
+earnestly.
+
+"I don't know about that," replied Tad, "can't promise. 'Taint likely
+Marie 'll give up the little chap of her own free will, just when
+she's got used to him and all. No, Phil, nor I don't see no great harm
+neither, in takin' him away. He ain't no property of hers. She stole
+him, and it would only be givin' her tit for tat."
+
+"My mother used to say two wrongs don't make a right, Tad, and after
+all it wasn't Marie who stole him first of all. It was you."
+
+"But I never meant to keep him, you see; I was a-goin' to take him home
+when I'd given his mother one for herself."
+
+"Tad, listen to me," said Phil; "you've been so nice and good and dear
+this long while now, and always done things I asked you, even when they
+was hard. Now do promise me, dear old chap, that you won't do nothin'
+but what's quite straightforward and honest." And Phil looked up in the
+elder boy's face with that wistful entreaty in his eyes which Tad had
+always found it hard to resist.
+
+But he was in a perverse mood to-day. One of his unreasonable, restless
+fits was upon him too, and the thought of some wild, lawless adventure
+was sweet to him. Some lessons Tad had learned from the teachings of
+adversity and from Phil's influence and example, but in many ways he
+was the old self-willed Tad still. No—assuredly he would not allow
+himself to be persuaded into making this promise, for if he did, he
+must keep it, and then—why then some good chance might slip by, and he
+might never get back to England at all.
+
+"No, Phil," he said. "I won't promise; how can I tell what may turn up?
+And I ain't goin' to tie myself in a hard knot for you nor no one. So
+there!"
+
+Phil said no more, but turned away sighing.
+
+The recognition which Tad had tried to avoid was bound to come some
+time, and come it did the very next morning. Marie was strolling about
+the camp field with the child toddling beside her, when she met Tad
+face to face. He cast down his eyes and would have passed on, but she
+stopped him.
+
+"Where have I seen you before, my boy?" she asked in French. But
+suddenly her face changed, she snatched the baby up, and held
+him close. "Ah," she added, "I remember now; yet it seems almost
+impossible."
+
+Still Tad said nothing, and there was a dead silence between them for
+what seemed like a very long while.
+
+"You are English?" said the woman at length.
+
+"Yes, missis," replied Tad.
+
+"Have you met me before?"
+
+"Yes, missis, when—when you stole that there child as you've got in
+your arms. He's my little brother, he is."
+
+"I don't believe it," said Marie, speaking now in English. "If he'd
+been your brother, you wouldn't have trusted him to a stranger like me,
+or you'd have come back sooner to fetch him."
+
+"Well, anyhow he's my half-brother," said Tad, "and how was I to know
+you was goin' to run off with him? You looked honest enough, and I
+thought you was so."
+
+"Does anyone here know about your bein' the boy that I—I—?"
+
+"No—only my chum, Phil Bates. He knows all about me."
+
+"Not my father and mother?"
+
+"No, no one else."
+
+"Good? Then hold your tongue about it still, and I'll make it worth
+your while," said Marie. "I love the child and he loves me, and I mean
+to bring him up as my own. Has he got a mother livin'?"
+
+"He had, seven months ago," replied Tad, "and I s'pose she ain't dead
+yet. That sort in general makes out to live," added the lad with a
+sniff of disgust.
+
+"And you—how came you here?"
+
+"That story's too long to tell," replied Tad, not over civilly, for he
+was chafed at the woman's manner, and the attitude she had assumed as
+regarded the child.
+
+"And when are you goin' away?" asked Marie.
+
+"Don't know, missis," said Tad, "and what's more I must get to my work
+now." And he turned away and joined Mother Sophie, helping her to scour
+some pots and pans down by the brookside.
+
+The foregoing conversation Tad repeated to Phil that night, adding,
+"Now you see, Phil, what I said was true. A woman like that won't part
+with the little 'un willin' and free, and I'll never get him at all
+unless I take him and French leave at one and the same time. After this
+talk as have passed betwixt me and Marie, what say you now?"
+
+"Just what I said afore, Tad. It's no use doin' wrong to bring about
+what we want to happen. Cheatin' and story-tellin' and stealin' and
+deceivin' is wicked, and sooner or later people gets paid out that does
+them things, no matter what the reason is."
+
+"There you go again!" grunted Tad.
+
+"Tad, dear, don't turn away lookin' so vexed. I want to help you; I
+will help you, if you'll let me. Let me have a talk with Marie and
+tell her your story, and how you've been hunted about just because of
+the child. I can't help thinkin' she'll be sorry for you, and let you
+have the little 'un, or what would be better, let you go with her on
+the steamer when she starts for Southampton to go back to her husband.
+Shall I tell—?"
+
+"It's no use, Phil!" cried Tad. "If you'd seen her face to-day when she
+spoke of the baby, you'd never believe she could change."
+
+"Well," persisted Phil, "s'posin' she won't listen to us, still maybe
+Father Jacques and Mother Sophie would. We did a foolish thing, Tad,
+not to say all we knowed, when we heard the old folks tellin' what
+Marie had written in her letter. If we'd spoke of it there and then,
+and they'd heard your story, they'd have been on our side now—maybe."
+
+"Well, well," said Tad impatiently, "that's bygones—that is! What's the
+use of thinkin' about it?"
+
+"If Marie don't give up the baby here, she could be made to in
+England," said Phil. "Why don't you write to your dad, as soon as we
+know when she's goin' back? Tell him she's got the child, and he'll
+take care of the rest."
+
+"How stoopid you are, Phil! That ain't all I'm after," said Tad
+crossly. "The baby ain't everything; I want to go back to England
+myself. If Dad got the baby home, he wouldn't care a straw what became
+of me; and that old cat of a stepmother of mine would be glad enough if
+nothin' was never heard of me no more. So you see I might stay here all
+my life. I must take the child myself or be here for good and all."
+
+"Well, if Marie will let you have him, that's all right," said Phil;
+"but Tad, dear, don't do nothin' you'll be sorry for after. Remember
+how you told me of such a many things you'd had to make a choice of,
+and you said you'd chose what you thought you'd like best, or what
+seemed easiest, and only see what have come of it! And it was only when
+we made up our minds not to do wrong, that God sort of opened up the
+way afore us, and got us clean away out of old Foxy's clutches. Tad,
+dear, them as tries to do the right thing God always helps, but no one
+can't expect help from Him if he does wrong."
+
+"Shut up with your preachin', Phil!" cried Tad impatiently. "If you was
+a parson and me the congregation, stuck fast in the pews, I'd be bound
+to listen; but you ain't, and I ain't, so hold your noise. The baby's
+my half-brother, not yours; he wasn't stole from you—was he? So it's
+none of your business. I'll do as I choose—I will—so there!"
+
+Tad had never before spoken harshly to his companion, and even as he
+uttered the words, his heart and conscience smote him.
+
+He saw Phil's head droop suddenly, and the thin cheek flush and pale
+again. He even thought he heard a half-suppressed sob, when the little
+fellow turned away without another word.
+
+But like Pharaoh of old, he hardened his heart, muttering, "What if he
+be hurt a bit! Sarve him right for meddlin' with what don't consarn
+him."
+
+Then he went off to his work of hobbling the horses for the night, at
+the other end of the field, and nothing more passed between him and
+Phil, nor did they see each other again till morning.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+AGAINST THE PRICKS
+
+SOME days passed, and meanwhile Tad's idea of running off with the
+child secretly was so much in his mind, unresisted, unchecked, that
+at last it became a distinct purpose for which he began once more to
+plot and plan. The foolishness and the utter recklessness of such a
+proceeding were lost sight of in his great desire to accomplish what
+he had at heart, namely his return to England and the restoration of
+the baby to its mother, by way of securing safety and a welcome for
+himself. The difficulties and dangers he did not take into account
+because he would not. Obstinately bent upon carrying out his idea, he
+made everything else yield; he was even prepared to part from Phil,
+rather than give up his purpose.
+
+We have seen that during the time of the worst of the troubles that
+had befallen the boys, Tad's heart had softened, his character had
+improved. But the great change by which all things are made new, had
+not yet come into the boy's soul. Self-will still ruled there, and it
+would need a yet sharper lesson ere the altar of this idol could be
+thrown down, and its sceptre broken.
+
+Since the day when Phil's remonstrance and appeal had called forth
+those cruel words from Tad, the younger boy had not ventured to mention
+the subject. But he had gone about with a heavy heart and a sad face,
+for he loved Tad dearly, and the estrangement between them hurt him
+sorely.
+
+He was anxious, too, for he could see plainly enough by the sullen,
+brooding look in Tad's face, that he had by no means relinquished
+his idea, but was only considering how best to work it out. Phil did
+not know what to do. He could not bear the thought of acting the
+tale-bearer, of going to Marie and warning her against his friend.
+Still less could he entertain the idea of saying anything to Jacques
+and Sophie. So that, between disloyalty to Tad on the one hand, and
+disloyalty to their kind friends on the other, Phil was indeed in
+straits—and very sore straits for a child of his years. He could only
+hope that the time of Marie's departure would come soon, and that
+meanwhile Tad would have no chance to carry off Baby Victor, as his
+gipsy mother called him.
+
+One morning about a week later, Marie received a letter from her
+husband, who announced his intention of coming over to fetch her. He
+said he should be sailing in a little vessel belonging to a friend, and
+he hoped to be at St. Malo shortly. He intended, he said, to spend a
+day or two with his father and mother-in-law, and then take his wife
+and the child back to England in the same boat that had brought him.
+
+"I must go to meet my husband to-night, mother," said Marie, two days
+later; "the boat is sure to be in."
+
+"I will go with thee," replied Sophie, "and thou, Jacques?"
+
+"I go too, of course," said the old man.
+
+"Wilt thou take the child, Marie?" inquired Sophie.
+
+"No, mother, I hardly think it would be well to do so. Poor Victor has
+seemed very feverish and languid these last days, and the night air
+would be bad for him. I will put him to bed before I go, and he will
+then sleep, I hope, and so will not miss me."
+
+"Pelagie will attend to him should he cry," said Sophie, "but I daresay
+he will sleep soundly till thy return."
+
+Phil did not overhear this conversation, but Tad happened to be at work
+close by, and heard every word.
+
+"This is goin' to be my chance!" he said to himself. "For once in a way
+I'm in luck, but I'll not tell Phil or he'd spoil all the fun."
+
+During the time that had gone by since first he meditated flight with
+the baby, Tad had contrived to scrape together a little money. Now
+and again, when in the town with Jacques, he had earned a sou or two,
+holding horses or carrying boxes and parcels from the wharf, or running
+errands, and the coppers he received Jacques allowed him to keep for
+himself. So that he had about a franc and twenty-five centimes, as
+nearly as possible one shilling of our money.
+
+At dinner that day he asked for more bread, and hid a big hunch away
+in his pocket. This was all the preparation that he could make for his
+journey, and blindly, obstinately, set upon his own way he must indeed
+have been, to think of undertaking it so poorly equipped. But there is
+no limit to the foolhardiness of self-will, when once it has, like a
+runaway horse, got the bit between its teeth; and so was it now with
+poor Tad's besetting sin.
+
+As evening approached, circumstances favoured the lad's design, for
+Phil was called by one of the men to accompany him to a neighbouring
+hamlet with baskets to sell, and Pelagie occupied herself with
+preparing supper contained in the usual big pot, into which she was
+shredding herbs of many kinds. For now the wild green plants were
+coming up with tender shoots, and none knew better than the gipsy woman
+which of them lent an appetising flavour to the soup.
+
+"Here, Edouard," said she to Tad, who was loafing about and watching
+his chance. "Step into Marie's waggon, will you, and look at the child.
+If he seems restless or uneasy, take him up and rock him gently in your
+arms till he is quiet. You can stay with him, for I do not need your
+help here. Go then at once; I shall be more at ease if I know you are
+with him."
+
+Tad, with an eagerness which he tried to hide, turned to obey. He
+entered the waggon where his little half-brother was fast asleep, and
+stood looking at him a moment by the light of a tiny lamp fixed into a
+brass socket on one of the walls of the cart.
+
+The little fellow's cheeks were scarlet, and through the parted lips
+the breath came in a quick, irregular way which was not natural.
+
+"Ought I to take him when he ain't quite well?" thought Tad; but once
+more his great desire conquered all conscientious scruples. "It's now
+or never," he muttered.
+
+And having made up his mind, he looked all round for some warm wrap in
+which to enfold the little fellow. Presently he saw a large, dark cloak
+of Marie's hanging from a nail. This he reached down, lifted the baby
+very cautiously, and throwing the cloak over him, even covering the
+face, he stepped out of the cart, peering round suspiciously for fear
+someone might be watching.
+
+It was already dusk, and another of the waggons stood between him and
+Pelagie, screening him from view. The rest of the troupe were scattered
+in various directions. No one was near but Pelagie, and she was
+preoccupied with her cooking.
+
+A few long, stealthy strides and Tad had reached the road. Here he
+paused a moment, looking this way and that, screened by some bushes;
+but no one was in sight.
+
+"Now for Granville and England!" he said to himself, and gathering the
+living bundle closer in his arms, he set off at a quick walk in an
+opposite direction from that which led to St. Malo. He had before him a
+long tramp, he knew, for Granville was nearly sixteen miles away.
+
+What he was to do when he got there was not very easy to determine, but
+what he hoped for was to find Jeremiah Jackson and his "Stormy Petrel,"
+and get a free passage over to Southampton. He had no idea, however,
+how often the skipper made his voyages, and therefore he knew he might
+have to wait a long time. But he had not considered how the baby and he
+were to live while thus waiting. Self-will is generally short-sighted,
+and does not take into account possible consequences, when following
+its own headlong course.
+
+The baby's weight, Tad soon found, was far greater now than it had
+been on that memorable Sunday nearly seven months ago. And the pace
+at which the runaway started to-night from the gipsy camp slowed down
+perforce after a while. By this time the night had closed in, and Tad
+was thankful for the darkness which hid this last evil deed of his.
+For now that the first excitement was over, he was beginning to feel
+that the deed was indeed evil. And as he trudged along, carrying the
+thrice-kidnapped child, he gradually realised to some extent what he
+was doing, and what a heavy price he was paying for his own way.
+
+Again before him, in the mirror of memory, rose the earnest, patient
+face of little Phil whom he had so disloyally deserted. Again he saw
+the look of pain which his own cruel words had called into those
+wistful eyes, those sensitive lips. Yes, he had lost Phil, dearly
+though they had loved each other, bitterly though they had suffered
+together. Then too, how had he requited dear old Mother Sophie and
+Father Jacques for all their kindness? Yes—they too were now among the
+losses which he had that night sustained. These true friends lost; and
+all for what?
+
+Poor Tad was obliged to confess to himself that he had precious little
+to show in exchange. True he had gratified his self-will, but so far
+the gratification was of a decidedly qualified character. He was
+growing very tired, and so hungry that he was obliged to stop and take
+out his piece of bread to munch as he went along. Then, too, the child
+had begun to wail piteously in a hoarse voice that frightened him, and
+Granville was still nine miles off.
+
+But for the demon Pride which kept whispering in his ear, the lad
+would have turned back even now to the camp; but he told himself that
+he could not bear to return to his friends confessing himself in the
+wrong. No, he felt he must go on now, having, by this last act of his,
+cut himself adrift from all who had befriended him.
+
+All night Tad walked on, but in the morning he got a lift in a light
+cart that was going in to an early market at Granville. Worn and jaded
+and utterly disheartened, he and his now slumbering charge were driven
+into the town.
+
+"The brat is a-goin' to be ill, I do believe," said Tad, peering down
+into the little flushed face lying against his shoulder. "Just like my
+luck!"
+
+"Had you not better take him to a doctor?" said the driver of the cart.
+"There is one living in this street, and he is very kind to the poor;
+he is sure not to charge you anything."
+
+"Thank you; then I will," replied Tad.
+
+And the man set him down at the doctor's door. Early as was the hour,
+quite a number of people were waiting to see the doctor, so it was some
+time before Tad's turn came. But it came at last, and the baby was
+unwrapped and examined.
+
+"Monsieur the doctor," said Tad, "will you please tell me if the child
+will be all right directly, for I want to take him to England very
+soon."
+
+The doctor looked up incredulously.
+
+"To England?" he repeated. "No indeed, my boy, he must go no further
+than Granville Hospital. I tell you the little one is very ill; he has
+got inflammation of the lungs, and you may be very thankful if he pulls
+through at all!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+JEREMIAH TO THE RESCUE
+
+"THEN all that I've done is wuss than lost," said Tad to himself as
+he walked slowly away from the hospital where he had left his little
+brother. "I've run away on the sly and walked all night; I've carried
+off a sick child as can't be no good to me; I've broke with Phil and
+with the gipsies; and all for what? To stay here and starve in the
+streets while maybe the child dies in the hospital, and if he do die,
+why then good-bye to any home-goin' at all. Just my luck I can't seem
+to compass nothing at all, I can't."
+
+That night he slept under an old boat which was turned on its side
+awaiting repairs on the shore, above high-water mark. A more unhappy
+lad it would have been hard to find under God's great canopy of sky
+than Tad when he awoke next morning, cold, hungry, with a remorseful
+conscience and an anxious heart. After buying a small loaf of bread
+which was to last him all day, he walked down to the quay, which he had
+good cause to remember, for it was here he had first met Renard. But
+the thought of old Foxy was not uppermost in his mind as he sauntered
+round, looking idly about him at the varied shipping, and at the busy
+crowd loading and unloading the vessels. His wretched experiences
+with his late master seemed to him now something very remote, almost
+forgotten in the nearness of his more recent troubles.
+
+So much absorbed was Tad in his own miserable reflections, and the
+utter collapse of every plan he had made, that he started like one
+awakened out of sleep, when a long, claw-like hand grasped his arm,
+and a well-known, hateful voice said almost in his ear, "Ah, bon jour,
+mine dear cheeile! So I you have found at de last!" And a grin of evil
+triumph made even uglier and more repulsive than ever Renard's wicked
+face. Tad started as though from some noxious reptile. All the memories
+of his sufferings and those of Phil at the hands of this man rushed
+upon him with overwhelming force, and he gazed into Renard's green
+eyes, fascinated and speechless.
+
+"Ah, ma foi!" chuckled Foxy. "Only to tink! Dis dear boy is so please
+to see his old master, dat he find not word to speak."
+
+"It's a lie! I ain't pleased!" cried Tad, finding voice at last. "You
+know very well I'm nothin' of the kind. I hate you, that I do! Let me
+go!" And he tried to wrench his arm from old Foxy's clutch.
+
+"Oh fie! Fie! Wat naughty tempers have dis dear cheeile!" sighed Renard
+as he tightened his hold. "Come wid me, mine friend; you shall once
+again be educate in de college of Monsieur Renard. Widout doubt your
+jours de fête—wat you call holiday—find demselves too long. Now you
+weel work."
+
+And old Foxy began to drag his unwilling prisoner along, trying to get
+him away from the quay and into the town.
+
+Tad did what he could to free himself from the man's hold, but all to
+no purpose. As well might a fly try to win clear when a spider has hold
+of him.
+
+The people they met took no heed of him. It was nothing uncommon to see
+a struggle or even a fight going on here, and nobody interfered; so Tad
+was almost in despair, when suddenly he caught sight of something that
+gave him energy and courage.
+
+There, standing on the deck of a trim little vessel drawn close
+up to the quay, was a burly form surmounted by a bluff; honest,
+weather-beaten face and a shaggy mass of red hair and beard.
+
+"Oh, Captain Jackson!" shrieked the lad. "Save me! Save me! Foxy's got
+me again!" And he stretched out his one free arm in passionate entreaty.
+
+The worthy Jeremiah leaped on shore and met Renard face to face.
+"What's up?" said he. "What's the matter?"
+
+"De matter, Monsieur Jeremie," replied Renard in honeyed tones, "is dat
+dis poor boy did run away from his kind master, and now he come back,
+and all weel be well again."
+
+"Never, never!" cried Tad. "Don't believe him, please, captain! He's
+the awfullest liar that ever was. Please, sir, look at me; don't you
+call to mind a boy you picked up in a open boat at sea, and how good
+you was to me? You wanted me to go back with you to England, and I'd
+near made up my mind to it, when old Foxy here come down with Phil
+Bates, and coaxed me into goin' along of him. And after that, me and my
+chum was starved and beaten and ill-treated, and at last, roust of all,
+we—"
+
+"Weel you be quaite, Edouard?" hissed Renard, giving the boy's arm a
+violent jerk. "If you hold not your peace," he added in a whisper, "I
+weel keel you."
+
+"I remember you very well, Teddie Poole," said Jeremiah. "So you don't
+want to return to the man's service, eh?"
+
+"No, sir, no indeed!" cried Tad. "Save me from him! Do save me,
+captain!"
+
+The bluff, good-humoured face looked very grave and stern as Jeremiah
+Jackson turned once more to Renard.
+
+"Unhand that lad, Renard!" he said.
+
+"Ma foi! And why, Monsieur Jeremie?" inquired Foxy. "You have not de
+right to say, 'Do dis and dat.'"
+
+"It's no use bullyin' and blusterin', you parley-vooin' scoundrel!"
+said Jackson stoutly. "Unhand that lad, or I'll tell the world here
+what I know. If once all Granville heard that you—"
+
+"Enough! Hush, oh hush, Monsieur Jeremie, mine good, dear friend!"
+whispered Renard, looking round furtively to see if Jackson's rather
+too plain speaking had been overheard. "It is one leetle joke; say
+notting more. I am only delight to do you oblige, and if you desire
+dat I let go dis cheeile, behold I cede heem widout unpleasant. Good
+morning, Edouard; bon jour to you too, Monsieur Jeremie."
+
+And loosening his hold on Tad, the Frenchman bowed low, cap in hand,
+and shuffled off towards the town.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+FAITHFUL PHIL
+
+"COME you down into my cabin and tell me what's happened since you
+bolted from the 'Stormy Petrel' with that sneakin' rascal." And the
+honest sailor shook his huge fist at the retreating form of old Renard.
+
+Then Tad followed the skipper into the tiny cabin, and there over
+a good breakfast told his story; told it exactly as things had
+happened—the whole truth without reserve. It was a relief now to
+disburden his heavy heart of what was oppressing him so sorely, and to
+ask for the advice and help of which he stood so urgently in need.
+
+"You want to know what I think you'd best do?" asked Jeremiah as Tad
+finished his narrative.
+
+"Yes, sir, and whatever you says now, I promise to do it," replied poor
+Tad. "All along I've been tryin' to choose and to get what I liked
+best, and I've done nothin' but kick agen pricks, just as you said to
+me. You see, I haven't forgot, sir."
+
+"Well, Teddie Poole, things bein' as they are, and you in a pretty bad
+fix, my counsel to you is to send word by letter to the woman you call
+Marie that the kid is in hospital here, and also to write to your chum
+Phil as how you're sorry and all that, for what you done. And then—"
+
+"Please, is this boat the 'Stormy Petrel,' and is Captain Jeremiah
+Jackson here?" called a sweet boyish voice down the companion way.
+
+"Why, if that ain't Phil hisself!" cried Tad. "I'd know his voice in
+a thousand!" And jumping from his seat, he scrambled up on deck, and
+rushed straight into Phil's arms.
+
+"Oh Phil, dear Phil, is it really you? And can you ever forgive me—me
+that have been so bad?" whispered Tad brokenly.
+
+"Hush, dear old man; I know the temptation was a big one to you, and
+what you done's all forgiven—be sure of that."
+
+"But how did you find me?" inquired Tad.
+
+"Oh, I knowed what you'd always thought of doin'," answered Phil, "and
+so we come straight here to Granville in one of the house-waggons, and
+I ran down to the quay to see if I could find the 'Stormy Petrel,'
+feelin' sure you'd make for her if she was in port. But Tad," continued
+Phil, "where's baby Victor? Is he down in the cabin? Marie's here, half
+mad at losin' him."
+
+Tad's face fell.
+
+"He's very ill, Phil; he's had to be took to the hospital; his chest is
+awful bad, I'm afeared."
+
+At this Phil turned away from his friend, and stepped off the boat on
+to the quay to tell Marie this sad news, for she was standing there
+waiting to hear about the child. The tears welled up in her dark eyes
+as Phil spoke, but she said nothing, only glancing reproachfully
+towards Tad ere she turned and went into the town, bending her steps
+towards the hospital where the little one was lying.
+
+While Tad stood sadly watching her out of sight, he presently saw
+coming slowly along by the water side good old Mother Sophie. Leaping
+on shore, he ran to meet her.
+
+"Dear Mother Sophie," he cried, "I have been the most wicked, thankless
+boy that ever lived, to leave you as I did, after all your goodness.
+But I am sorry, and oh, I—"
+
+"If you are sorry for having made us so anxious, child, I pardon you.
+But tell me, Edouard, where is baby Victor?"
+
+"He is in the hospital, and his life is in danger I fear, dear mother."
+
+"My poor Marie!" sighed the old woman. "She loves Victor so well, and
+her heart would break were he to die. It will be hard enough anyway to
+part from him, even if he gets well."
+
+Tad turned in amazement to Phil, who had followed him as he went to
+meet Mother Sophie.
+
+"Part from him—if he gets well?" said he. "What does that mean, Phil?"
+
+"Only that I have told Marie, and Father Jacques, and Mother Sophie the
+whole story," replied Phil, "so now they all know the truth about you
+and baby. Marie didn't want to give up the child, if once she managed
+to get him back from you, but her parents wouldn't hear of her keepin'
+him, after what I'd told them, so if he gets better, you and he and
+Marie 'll go back to England together if you like."
+
+Tad was silent for a minute.
+
+"Then maybe if I'd told the whole truth to the good people at the
+beginning, as you begged me to, Phil," he said at last, "I might have
+got my way without runnin' off with the child at all, and p'raps he
+wouldn't have been so ill neither."
+
+Phil made no answer to this. What indeed could he say?
+
+But Tad went on, "I say, Phil, what a fool I've been for my pains!
+Captain Jackson was right about kickin' agen the pricks, for here I've
+took lots of trouble to go crooked, just to find myself wuss off than
+if I'd gone straight, to say nothin' of makin' no end of bother for
+others."
+
+"But now, Edouard," put in Mother Sophie, who understood no English,
+and had no idea what Tad was talking about, "now, Edouard, what do you
+intend to do? Will you return with your friend the captain this voyage,
+or—"
+
+"No, no, dear Mother Sophie," answered Tad, "I will not go until baby
+is better and can go too. You know I couldn't go home without him."
+
+"Here you, Teddie Poole!" called Jeremiah from the deck of his
+schooner. "I want to speak to you!"
+
+And Tad ran back quickly.
+
+"Will you go home with us in a few days' time, boy?" inquired the
+captain. "Or would you rather wait till I come again? I expect to be
+back here in about three weeks, if all be well, and I'll take you and
+your friends over then if you like. No, don't thank me, my lad!" he
+added, as Tad gratefully accepted his second offer. "No need for more
+words about it. It's only my dooty as a man and a Christian, and it's a
+pleasure into the bargain. And, praise the Lord, the boat's my own, and
+I've no one's leave to ask."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER
+
+THE days passed, and Marie returned from her daily visits to the
+hospital, bringing no better reports.
+
+"But for that long night of exposure to the cold, damp air, baby Victor
+would never have been so ill," she had said reproachfully to Tad; "and
+now, through you and your headstrong folly, this precious little life
+will most likely be lost. You do not deserve to have a brother."
+
+Tad did not resent Marie's hard words. He knew he merited them richly,
+and he did not attempt to excuse or defend himself. Truly repentant and
+humble as he had become, he could not undo the grievous consequences of
+his sin. So he meekly listened to the woman's reproaches, which he felt
+came from a very sore heart, and were none the less sharp and bitter
+for that.
+
+At last there came a time when the doctors said that the little one's
+life hung, as it were, on a thread, and there was hardly a chance that
+he could recover. And when poor Marie brought back this news, Tad felt
+that now his cup of misery and of punishment was full indeed.
+
+If the child died, he would feel, all his life long, like a murderer,
+and go through the world as with the brand of Cain upon his brow.
+
+Towards evening of that day, Phil found him sitting in an
+out-of-the-way corner, quite overwhelmed with trouble.
+
+"I can't bear it, Phil!" he sobbed. "For baby to be took and me left is
+too dreadful; me, too, that nobody cares for and nobody wants!"
+
+For all answer Phil nestled close to his friend, and passed a loving
+arm round his neck. He felt that such trouble as this could not be
+comforted by mere words, but he also felt that for every burdened heart
+comfort might be found where he—Phil—had often found it before during
+his sad young life.
+
+The place where the lads were sitting was quiet and solitary enough,
+and the darkness was fast stealing on, softly shadowing earth and sky.
+
+By his friend's side Phil knelt, still with an arm round Tad's neck,
+and then the boy's tender sympathy and loving pity found a voice in
+fervent prayer to Him Who on earth healed the sick with a word or a
+touch, and raised the dead, and forgave the sins of those who had gone
+astray.
+
+For the little life now trembling in the balance, Phil wrestled with
+cries and tears. For forgiveness for the past, for help in time to
+come, for strength to do the right whatever might happen—the childish
+voice, broken by sobs, rose in passionate supplication, thrilling
+Tad's heart through and through with the consciousness of some unseen
+Presence, and bringing back to his memory words long forgotten,
+"'Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not.'"
+
+With hands close clasped, and streaming eyes lifted towards the sky,
+the awe-struck lad gazed and gazed, half fearing to see, half expecting
+some visible sign to appear in the dark heavens above him, in answer to
+that urgent cry for help.
+
+Once more the sweet, plaintive voice broke, sending forth sobbingly the
+words, so touching in their simplicity,—
+
+   "Dear Lord, Thou knows all we want to say and can't. Do it for us; Thou
+ can, and Thou art willin', that we know, cos Thou said so. Send us a
+ answer of peace, for Thy own sake, Amen."
+
+Then there was silence; both boys felt that the place whereon they
+knelt was holy ground, and neither could bear to break the solemn hush.
+Hand in hand, and nearer in heart than they had ever been before, the
+lads went back to the cart.
+
+The matron of the children's ward in the hospital at Granville, seeing
+Marie's great anxiety, had allowed her to have access to the child
+whenever she liked. And when the boys returned to the house-waggon,
+they found that she had not yet got back from her evening visit.
+
+In almost unbearable suspense they sat there on the short turf, waiting
+for the news which they so dreaded and yet longed for. Not a word had
+been spoken between them as yet. Tad was seated leaning eagerly forward
+to catch the first glimpse of Marie on her way home. Phil lay at full
+length, as though exhausted, his pale face upturned, his eyes closed.
+Suddenly he sat up, his eyes radiant in the moonlight, a smile upon his
+lips.
+
+"He heard us, Tad! He heard us!" whispered the boy. "It's all right!
+Hark! There she comes!"
+
+Tad listened, and heard a light, quick step speeding along, joyful
+relief in every footfall. II was Marie returning. Both lads sprang to
+their feet, and ran to meet her.
+
+"All is well, thank God!" cried the woman as she saw them. "The doctors
+say he will live."
+
+And she passed on to the van to awaken her mother with the joyful
+tidings, while the boys, left together, crept away, and from glad
+hearts sent up to heaven the voice of praise and thanksgiving.
+
+With the young, recovery is often a very rapid thing, and that of
+Marie's adopted child was no exception to this rule.
+
+By the time the "Stormy Petrel" returned to Granville, the little one
+was well enough to be out for hours in the warm, bright sun, and to
+bear the voyage home.
+
+Jacques and Sophie would have been glad to keep Phil with them always,
+for he had greatly endeared himself to them by his unselfishness and
+gentle ways. But Tad and he could not bear to be parted, and Jeremiah
+Jackson had held out a hope to the boys that he might give them both
+a berth on board of his vessel, if they found, on their return to
+England, that they could find nothing better to do.
+
+So one lovely afternoon, in full spring, Marie and the baby, Tad, and
+Phil, took leave of the kind gipsies, and going on board the trim
+little schooner, glided out into the crimson sunset, with a fair wind
+and all sail set.
+
+Marie's husband had gone back to England two weeks before, being unable
+to wait till the baby was well enough to travel. A letter had been
+written to James Poole, and sent to the address of Tad's former home,
+whence it had been forwarded to the new house, near Southampton, to
+which the Pooles had recently moved. To this letter Tad's father had
+sent a kind reply, promising to meet the voyagers on arrival.
+
+Marie had at first intended herself to take the baby to his home,
+accompanying Tad thither. But on learning that James Poole was to
+meet his children, and remembering, too, that in stealing the baby on
+that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday evening, all those months ago, she
+had exposed herself to a serious risk, and indeed to the certainty of
+punishment by English law, she thought she had better not show herself
+at all to the child's father, but find her way to her husband's people
+as quickly as possible.
+
+Of the parting between Marie and her adopted child we need not
+say much, but sad as it was, she went through it with courage and
+determination.
+
+James Poole, as was expected, met the voyagers at Southampton, and Tad
+was surprised to see how much softened and how gentle his father's face
+and manner had become. When Tad introduced Phil, James Poole greeted
+the boy very kindly, and cordially invited him home.
+
+The Pooles had a nice roomy cottage just out of town, and on the way
+there, Tad's father told him that Mrs. Poole had been a great invalid
+for four months and more, and quite unable to do any work about the
+house, so that life had been very hard for all. He said that Nell and
+Bert were well, and good children on the whole, but running rather
+wild for want of looking after, and that Mr. Scales the grocer, Tad's
+former employer, had quite recently written to inquire after his late
+shop-boy, saying that since Tad left, he had been unable to find a lad
+to suit him.
+
+On reaching home, it was a sad sight to see Mrs. Poole lying on a couch
+quite helpless, dependent upon an old woman who came every morning to
+do the work of the house. But on seeing her baby boy and receiving him
+into her arms again, the poor mother was so full of joy and content and
+thankfulness, that the look of suffering passed from her face, and Tad
+thought he should not be surprised if she got well after all.
+
+In the general rejoicing, no one thought of scolding or blaming the
+runaway lad, and all listened eagerly while he told his adventures.
+
+Phil too was made much of, and when, in relating his story, Tad told
+also not sparing nor excusing himself—how Phil had been his good angel,
+his loving, faithful friend, ever since they had first met, there
+was not a dry eye in all that little company. And James Poole wrung
+the little slender hand in his strong palm, Nell and Bert hugged him
+round the neck, and Mrs. Poole patted his head and called him a dear
+good lad, till he felt quite shy, for he had never been used to much
+kindness or attention.
+
+Presently, when the little ones had gone to bed, Mrs. Poole asked Tad
+to come and sit down by her, and when he did so, she said:
+
+"Tad, dear, God has taught me a many lessons since you left home all
+them months ago. First there was losin' my baby, and afterwards this
+illness that came of a fall. But Tad, it wasn't until I began to miss
+my little one, that I called to mind how you and Nell and Bert had
+never ceased to miss your mother, and how I never so much as tried to
+fill her place. And it wasn't till I was laid aside, and needed to have
+people tender and patient with me, that I remembered I'd never been
+tender and patient with the poor chil'en I was stepmother to. But now,
+dear boy, you've come home again, and me and your father we'll both try
+and make it real home to you, so as it shan't never no more come into
+your head and heart to run away. Kiss me, Tad, and call me mother, for
+that's what—God helpin' me—I mean to be to you always."
+
+
+And now we can say good-bye to Tad the kidnapper, feeling quite sure
+that never again will he deserve this name.
+
+How he went back to his duties at the grocer's shop, living in Mr.
+Scales' house all the week, and returning home for Sunday; how he
+gradually rose in his employer's confidence to a position of trust and
+of usefulness; how Phil, after a short sojourn with the Pooles, began
+to pine for something to do, and accepted Jeremiah Jackson's offer of
+a berth as cabin boy aboard the "Stormy Petrel"; how Marie, by special
+invitation, came every now and then to see baby Victor, (as she still
+called him); and how God sent her at last a little baby boy of her very
+own to comfort her heart; all this we need only just mention, for our
+story has been told to show that the getting of our own way does not
+always mean happiness or prosperity.
+
+And since poor Tad Poole had learned this lesson, perhaps we who have
+followed him step by step in his adventurous career have learned it too.
+
+
+
+Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO., Edinburgh
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74793 ***
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-<body>

-<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74793 ***</div>

-

-<p>Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<figure class="figcenter" id="image001" style="max-width: 33.8125em;">

-  <img class="w100" src="images/image001.jpg" alt="image001">

-</figure>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<figure class="figcenter" id="image002" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">

-  <img class="w100" src="images/image002.jpg" alt="image002">

-</figure>

-<p class="t4">

-<b>"BOAT AHOY! WAKE UP THERE!"</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h1>WHAT HAPPENED<br>

-<br>

-TO TAD</h1>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p class="t3">

-BY<br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="t1">

-MARY E. ROPES<br>

-<br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="t4">

-<em>Author of "Karl Jansen's Find," "Caroline Street,"<br>

-"Two Brave Boys," etc., etc.</em><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br><br></p>

-

-<p class="t4">

-LONDON<br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="t3">

-THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY<br>

-</p>

-

-<p class="t4">

-4 Bouverie Street and 65 St. Paul's Churchyard E.C.<br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<p class="t3b">

-CONTENTS<br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>CHAPTER</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_1">I. VERY HARD LINES</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_2">II. PLANNING REVENGE</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_3">III. GONE</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_4">IV. ANOTHER STEP DOWN</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_5">V. DRIVEN FORTH</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_6">VI. AFLOAT</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_7">VII. JEREMIAH JACKSON</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_8">VIII. FOXY AND PHIL</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_9">IX. A SLAVE INDEED</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_10">X. WEAK YET SO STRONG</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_11">XI. GOOD-BYE TO FOXY</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_12">XII. A FRIEND AND AN ENEMY</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_13">XIII. UNEXPECTED NEWS</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_14">XIV. OLD MEMORIES AND A NEW IDEA</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_15">XV. TURNING THE TABLES</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_16">XVI. TAD HARDENS HIS HEART</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_17">XVII. AGAINST THE PRICKS</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_18">XVIII. JEREMIAH TO THE RESCUE</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_19">XIX. FAITHFUL PHIL</a></p>

-

-<p><a href="#Chapter_20">XX. THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER</a></p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<p class="t2">

-<b>WHAT HAPPENED TO TAD</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_1">CHAPTER I</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>VERY HARD LINES</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"NOW look here, boy! I ain't a-goin' to have no more words about it.

-Your mother must—"</p>

-

-<p>"She ain't my mother, nor I'll never call her so, never! Not if I live

-a hundred year; so don't try to make me, dad."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, I dare say it won't matter such a great deal to your stepmother

-what you call her, so long as you do what you're told, Tad. But please

-to understand, my lad, that if you kick up a rumpus here, and make

-things unpleasant for my wife, you'll hear of it again from me, as sure

-as my name's James Poole."</p>

-

-<p>"But, dad," pursued the boy, "she ain't kind to the children, leastways

-only to her own kid. She beats poor little Bert, and boxes Nell's ears

-for the least thing."</p>

-

-<p>"Tiresome spoilt brats! Serve 'em right!" retorted the man. "But

-anyhow, Tad, it ain't your business. You may as well understand, once

-for all, that I mean she shall be missis here, and manage the home

-her own way. Now go along, will you! I've no more time to waste on

-tale-tellin' and grumblin'."</p>

-

-<p>"It's wicked! It's a shame!" muttered Teddie Poole (or Tadpole as his

-friends had nicknamed him). "This has got to end somehow!"</p>

-

-<p>But his father only growled under his breath, caught up his cap, and

-left the house.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, it's too bad; everything's against me and them two poor chil'en.

-Dad's number two—she don't care for 'em one little bit, though nothin's

-too good for that great, thumpin', squealin' baby of hers. I'd take

-Bert and Nell right off somewheres, only I couldn't keep 'em and look

-after 'em—poor mites!"</p>

-

-<p>Then with a heavy heart, Tad betook himself to his work. It was not

-much of a place that the boy had got. He was only a grocer's lad at

-four shillings a week, but it was better than nothing, and he did his

-work willingly enough, though he was often footsore and weary with

-running or standing about from morning till night.</p>

-

-<p>There was a great deal of good in poor Tad. When his own mother died,

-he tried to take care of his little brother and sister, and often

-denied himself for their sake.</p>

-

-<p>But when at last James Poole married again, the boy bitterly resented

-his stepmother's harsh ways with her husband's children. And since her

-own baby's birth, things at home had been worse than ever. She grudged

-to Bert and Nell every moment of time that she was obliged to give

-them, and even the very food they ate. She had no sympathy for their

-childish troubles, no tender words or caresses for anyone but her own

-baby boy; while towards Tad, who had from the first made no secret of

-his feelings, she showed in return a dislike which had something almost

-malignant about it.</p>

-

-<p>Several times the lad had complained to his father, but his words had

-produced no effect except still more to enrage his stepmother against

-him. And now Tad had made another appeal, and had once again failed.</p>

-

-<p>All day long, he turned the matter over in his mind as he ran his

-errands or helped his master, Mr. Scales, to make up parcels in the

-shop. Life at home was becoming unbearable—impossible—he told himself.

-What was to be done?</p>

-

-<p>Once the grocer glanced at him with a comical, puzzled smile on his

-fat, good-natured face, but Tad never looked up, and presently his

-master said:</p>

-

-<p>"Before you put them little packets up in brown paper, Teddie, just see

-if they are all right, will you?"</p>

-

-<p>The lad obeyed, but as he began to look through his packets of grocery,

-he flushed hotly.</p>

-

-<p>"I can't think how I could have been so stupid, sir," he said

-penitently; "why, here's sugar and salt got mixed somehow, and the

-bacon rashers has gone and wrapped theirselves up with the yaller

-soap. Oh my! And a pound of taller dips is broke loose all among the

-currants, till they looks just like the hats of them 'ketch-'em-alive'

-fellers. Oh, sir, I'm awful sorry."</p>

-

-<p>The round face of Mr. Scales expanded into a grin of genuine amusement.</p>

-

-<p>"It isn't often you make such mistakes, my boy," he said kindly, "so

-I must forgive you this time. But it seems to me, Tad, that you've

-something on your mind."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, sir, that's just it," answered Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"Is it anything I can help you in?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, sir, thank you, no one can't help me," replied the boy gloomily.</p>

-

-<p>"Ah well, you think so now, but perhaps things will mend in a day or

-two, and then you'll feel more hopeful."</p>

-

-<p>Tad shook his head, but did not reply. He tried, however, to put his

-troubles out of his mind for the present, and to give his undivided

-attention to his work, so as to make no more mistakes. He did not

-reach home that evening until eight, and his father and stepmother

-were sitting at table. Bert, half undressed, was sobbing in a corner,

-his face to the wall, and little Nell was wailing in her cot upstairs,

-having been put to bed supperless for some childish offence.</p>

-

-<p>"Late again, Tad!" exclaimed Mrs. Poole crossly. "Why can't you be home

-in good time?"</p>

-

-<p>"Mr. Scales kept me a bit later than common," replied Tad; "we was very

-busy."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't believe that's anything but a excuse," retorted the woman.

-"It's a deal more likely as how you've been playin' round with them

-rude street boys that you learns your pretty manners from."</p>

-

-<p>Tad flushed scarlet with rage.</p>

-

-<p>"I came straight home," said he; "I ran all the way to try and get back

-quick. I don't tell lies, and I think you ought to believe me."</p>

-

-<p>"Hark at that, now! Jim, just do hark at that! Ought to, forsooth!

-Ain't there any other thing, if you please, that I ought to do?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," shouted Tad, beside himself with passion—"lots of 'em!"</p>

-

-<p>"Shut up, will you?" roared James Poole, bringing his heavy fist down

-upon the table. "Am I never to have a minute's peace at home?"</p>

-

-<p>"'Tain't my fault, dad," said the boy; "I ain't gone and done nothin'."</p>

-

-<p>"No, everybody knows you never do nothin'," sneered his stepmother.

-"You're just one of they poor critturs that's put upon all the time by

-other folks, when you're as innercent as a angel."</p>

-

-<p>Tad got up and pushed his plate away without having touched a mouthful.</p>

-

-<p>"I can't eat, dad," he said to his father, "a bite or a sup would choke

-me."</p>

-

-<p>James Poole made no reply, but his wife laughed and said:</p>

-

-<p>"So much the better! All the more left for us!"</p>

-

-<p>"Bein' Saturday," said Tad, coming round to his father's side, "Mr.

-Scales paid me as usual. Here's the money for you, dad!" and he put

-down four shillings on the table.</p>

-

-<p>"Give it to your mother, Tad, she does the providin'."</p>

-

-<p>But Tad did not obey.</p>

-

-<p>"Give that there money to me, do you hear?" cried Mrs. Poole.</p>

-

-<p>But Tad appeared to take no notice of her.</p>

-

-<p>"Won't you have the tin, father?" he said.</p>

-

-<p>"No, my boy; I know I've took your wages till now, but I find your

-mother—your stepmother—likes to have it herself, and it's all the same

-to me."</p>

-

-<p>Tad did not even glance at Mrs. Poole, but deliberately gathered up the

-coins and pocketed them, saying:</p>

-

-<p>"Then, since you don't want my earnin's, dad, I'll keep 'em, for from

-to-day I'm a-goin' to feed myself."</p>

-

-<p>And not waiting to hear any more, he went upstairs to his little garret

-room, and bolted himself in to brood over his wrongs, and think out

-some way of escape from the influences of a home that had grown so

-hateful.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_2">CHAPTER II</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>PLANNING REVENGE</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>NO sleep did Tad get that night, tired though he was. He was thinking

-so hard that he could not close his eyes. Things had come to a climax

-at last, and something must be done. His stepmother and he hated each

-other cordially, and his efforts to stand up for the children only made

-matters worse both for himself and them.</p>

-

-<p>There were only two courses open to Tad now, and to one of these he

-must commit himself on the following day. Either he must eat humble

-pie, submit his will entirely to his stepmother, and have no choice

-of his own in anything, or he must go quite away, away as far as he

-could—and try to shift for himself.</p>

-

-<p>The thought of remaining at home, to be sneered at, and scolded, and

-abused by Mrs. Poole, was intolerable. The idea of submitting to her,

-and thus acknowledging her authority, he put from him as altogether too

-bitter a pill to be swallowed. There remained, then, only the other

-alternative, and that was to cut adrift from all his belongings, and go

-away.</p>

-

-<p>The thing that troubled him most about this plan, next to leaving

-little Bert and Nell, was that he knew it would be nothing but a

-delight to Mrs. Poole to get rid of him, and he could not bear to give

-her pleasure even by carrying out this plan of his own.</p>

-

-<p>"I'd like oncommon to punish her—punish her well!" said the boy to

-himself, as he tossed uneasily on his bed and stared before him into

-the darkness. "I'd like to make her real unhappy as she's always makin'

-us. Go away I'm bound to, but I must do something beside as 'll make

-her laugh t'other side of her mouth."</p>

-

-<p>For some moments Tad thought intently. At last, with a sudden bound, he

-found himself, in his excitement, standing in the middle of the floor.</p>

-

-<p>"I have it!" he chuckled. "I know what I'm a-goin' to do! That's

-fine!"</p>

-

-<p>And again he laughed to himself—a hard laugh that told a sad tale of

-its own, and showed what a terrible power, even over the soft young heart

-of early youth, have the stony influences of injustice and cruelty.</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>With the first dawn of Sunday morning, Tad rose and dressed himself

-noiselessly. Into an old satchel-basket, that his master had given

-him, he packed his clothes and his one spare pair of boots. His brush

-and comb, and a very few other little matters, were added, and then he

-covered all neatly with a sheet of newspaper, after which he put the

-basket away in the cupboard till he should want it.</p>

-

-<p>Tad knew his stepmother's Sunday habits and customs, and quite hoped

-that he should presently have a chance to carry out the plans for

-his own escape and for the accomplishing of the revenge which he had

-promised himself.</p>

-

-<p>The boy had eaten no supper, and had passed a sleepless night, and he

-began to feel sick and faint by the time his little preparations were

-completed, so that he was glad to lie down again.</p>

-

-<p>About seven o'clock he heard his father's voice calling him, and he

-jumped up and ran out of his room.</p>

-

-<p>"Come and dress the children, Tad," said James Poole; "your stepmother

-have got a headache, and means to stay quiet till near dinner time."</p>

-

-<p>Tad smiled, well pleased. He knew that this was the usual Sunday

-headache, which needed a long sleep and a plentiful dinner for its

-cure, and he had reckoned upon it as a most important part of his

-plans. He dressed Bert and Nell, and then the baby. But this last was

-not an easy thing to do, for the child wriggled and squirmed like an

-eel.</p>

-

-<p>Meanwhile James Poole lighted the fire and got breakfast ready, and

-presently all sat down but Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"Come and have your breakfast, lad," said his father.</p>

-

-<p>"No thank you, dad," replied the boy.</p>

-

-<p>"And why not?"</p>

-

-<p>"You heard what she said to me last night, dad, didn't you? After that

-and what I answered her, I ain't goin' to eat nothin' more of her

-providin'."</p>

-

-<p>And Tad's face burned at the remembrance of the insulting words that

-had brought him to this resolution. His heart was hot within him as

-with a smouldering fire, while he said to himself, "Ah well—my turn's

-comin'."</p>

-

-<p>"Don't be such a fool, Tad," said his father; "here, take your tea, and

-I'll cut you some bread and butter."</p>

-

-<p>Tad was just longing for some food. He had not eaten a mouthful since

-an early tea in Mr. Scales' little back parlour the day before. But

-it was not for nothing that Mrs. Poole had often called him "the most

-obstinatious little beast of a boy" she'd ever seen. And since he had

-made up his mind not to eat again at his father's table, he stuck to

-his resolution, rash and foolish as it was.</p>

-

-<p>"No, dad, no," he said. "I'll make shift to get a bite somewheres or

-other later on, but I ain't goin' to unsay what I said last night—not

-for no one."</p>

-

-<p>"You forget it's Sunday, lad, you can't buy any food," said James

-Poole; "and besides, though you may be able to starve for a day, you

-can't keep on doin' of it, so that sooner or later you're bound to

-break your resolution. Now don't be an obstinate mule, but eat your

-breakfast, or you'll be makin' yourself ill."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't care," said Tad, feeling very wretched in mind and body.</p>

-

-<p>Not to be shaken in his purpose, he set the baby on his father's knee,

-and went to his room.</p>

-

-<p>There, seeing his overcoat hanging up on a nail on the door, he

-recalled to mind that, two days before, his master had given him some

-broken biscuits that had remained behind after the whole ones were

-sold. He had put them into the pocket of his light overcoat, just as he

-was leaving the shop, and had not once thought of them till now. Very

-thankful to be able to appease his ravenous hunger, the lad sat down

-and ate up the biscuits to the very last crumb, washing down the dry,

-stale morsels with a drink of water from his jug.</p>

-

-<p>Then feeling much better for his meal, he went downstairs again,

-cleared the breakfast table, and washed the crockery and spoons,

-afterwards making up the fire and tidying the kitchen, all of this

-being his accustomed Sunday work.</p>

-

-<p>When all was in order, he dressed Bert and Nell for morning Sunday

-School, and took them there, returning home quickly, for he knew he

-should be called upon to mind the baby, and take him out; and this—for

-reasons of his own—he did not mind doing to-day.</p>

-

-<p>An hour later, while James Poole sat reading his paper and smoking

-a pipe in the chimney corner, and while great, fat, lazy Mrs. Poole

-turned in bed and commenced another nap to the accompaniment of some

-terrific snores, Tadpole slipped away with the baby in his arms, and

-the basket strapped to his waist.</p>

-

-<p>He did not care to say good-bye to his father; had not James Poole

-taken his wife's part when she was cruel and unjust? As for Bert and

-Nell, Tad had given each of them a tearful embrace as he left them at

-the school door—a long, loving kiss that would have set them wondering

-and asking questions, had they been just a little older. But as it was,

-they did not notice the difference in their brother's manner.</p>

-

-<p>"Now comes my revenge!" muttered the lad. "My one bit of pleasure in

-all this bad business. Oh, Mrs. P., you shall have a few jolly hours

-to-day, if I can manage it for you."</p>

-

-<p>And with a vindictive light in his eyes, Tad walked away, on and on,

-till he left the town behind him, and came out into a country road

-between hedges, with a meadow on one side, and a copse and plantation

-on the other. Finding at last a gate to the meadow, he climbed over it,

-nearly dropping the child in his scramble. Once over, he went further

-into the field to be out of sight of anyone passing on the road, for he

-had no wish, just as his little plan promised success, to be taken up

-as a trespasser.</p>

-

-<p>For some time he walked about with the child, till at last the little

-fellow fell asleep. Then Tad laid him in a soft, sheltered place under

-a tree, and spread a shawl, kept up by the handle of the basket, to

-keep off the wind and the sun. Then he stood looking at the baby with a

-malicious grin on his lips.</p>

-

-<p>"It's all right so far," said he to himself. "When dinner time comes,

-and no me nor no baby turns up, Mrs. P. will begin to have the lovely

-time I've been wishin' her; and when I think she's had about enough of

-it, I'll carry baby back, and leave him on the doorstep, or somewheres

-handy, and then off I goes on my travels, like a prince in one of them

-fairy tales."</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_3">CHAPTER III</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>GONE</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>THE baby awoke after awhile, and cried a little, but Tad was too good

-and experienced a nurse not to have anticipated and arranged for what

-the child would want. He quickly produced from the basket the little

-one's feeding-bottle and some milk, and very soon the baby, quite

-satisfied and happy, was creeping about on the grass and playing with

-some flowers that Tad found for him. And when he wearied of this, the

-boy rocked him to sleep again in his arms.</p>

-

-<p>Then, wearied by his own sleepless night, he lay down beside the

-child for a much-needed nap. His last feeling, before dropping into

-dreamland, being one of grim rejoicing in the recollection that his

-stepmother must already be in a "fine taking,"—as he would have

-expressed it,—about her baby. Tad had made up his mind not to carry

-the child back until dark, "for fear," he said to himself, "of being

-nabbed." But already it was afternoon, and in these autumn days the

-darkness came early.</p>

-

-<p>When Tad awoke from a sound sleep of several hours, the twilight was

-creeping over earth and sky. The quiet rest had much refreshed him, and

-baby too had waked up in a happy mood, and looked so much less like his

-mother than usual, that Tad felt fonder of the poor little fellow than

-ever before, and even kissed his little round face when he picked him

-up.</p>

-

-<p>Carrying the basket on his arm, and the baby over his shoulder, Tad

-walked across the meadow, and came to a stile leading out on to a

-common, where was a gipsy encampment.</p>

-

-<p>A couple of carts were drawn up near the hedge on one side of the

-field, four or five stiff-legged, scraggy horses were grazing hungrily

-on the short, stubbly grass, while not far from a fire, which blazed

-merrily under a black pot, sat a little company of brown-skinned,

-rough-looking men and women, and a few children played about around

-them.</p>

-

-<p>It helped to pass the time, watching the gipsies, so Tad, with the baby

-in his arms, got over the stile, and drawing nearer to the picturesque

-group, stood looking at the people, and hungrily sniffing the savoury

-steam that rose from the cooking-pot.</p>

-

-<p>Presently a young woman rose from among the little company, and came

-towards Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"You look hungry, lad; have a bite with us," she said.</p>

-

-<p>Tad gladly consented, and as the air was growing chill, he joined the

-group of gipsies as they gathered closer round the fire. The young

-woman took the baby from him, and fondled and rocked it while Tad ate

-his supper.</p>

-

-<p>"'Tain't long since she lost her own child," said one of the men to

-Tad, "and this little un ain't onlike him."</p>

-

-<p>When the lad had finished his meal, he thought he had perhaps better

-set off on a little spying expedition, to see if the coast was clear

-for him to take the baby home; for he did not wish to be met by any

-search parties coming to look for him and his little charge.</p>

-

-<p>But to do his spying safely; he ought to leave the child here; and

-turning to the young woman, who was walking to and fro with the baby,

-crooning to it, and putting it to sleep in the usual motherly fashion,

-he said:</p>

-

-<p>"I've got a errand to run, missis, and maybe it'll take me a hour or

-more. Would you have the goodness just to mind the little un for me

-till I can come back for him? I'll be as quick as I can."</p>

-

-<p>"It'll be all right," replied the woman, with an eager light in her

-dark eyes. "I'll see to the baby. You needn't hurry, neither. He's

-goin' off to sleep again, and there's no fear but what he'll be quite

-quiet and content."</p>

-

-<p>Thanking her warmly, away went the Tadpole, carrying his big head high,

-and putting all possible speed into his slender body and thin legs.

-He spent over an hour in dodging about and looking here and there for

-possible pursuers. But he met no search parties, and feeling now more

-sure than ever of being able to carry out his plan to the very end, he

-came leisurely back to the common where he had left the gipsy camp.</p>

-

-<p>It was quite dark now; he could just see the dull glow of the fire's

-dying embers, but nothing else. As he came nearer, however, what were

-his surprise and dismay to find that the place was deserted. Gone

-were the carts, the horses, the people, and worst of all, gone too

-was the baby. It was as if the whole encampment had melted into thin

-air—vanished as utterly as the scenes of a dream.</p>

-

-<p>"They must have crossed the common and come out into a road beyond,"

-thought Tad.</p>

-

-<p>And hoping to overtake them and get back the child, he started at a

-quick run, often stumbling in the darkness, and once or twice falling

-outright. After going some distance, he reached a place where four

-roads met, leading off in various directions. Meanwhile the darkness

-had deepened, no moon or stars lightened the gloom, and Tad began to

-realise the hopelessness of trying to follow the gipsies, who, no

-doubt, had employed their usual cunning to elude pursuit. Utterly

-baffled and at fault in his search, and well-nigh stunned by the

-misfortune that had come upon him, the lad stood still at the cross

-roads, and tried to collect his thoughts.</p>

-

-<p>His intention had been only to give his stepmother a thorough fright,

-by way of paying her out for some of the unkindness he and Bertie and

-Nell had received from her. But now the matter had been taken out of

-his hands, and it looked very much as if, not only Mrs. Poole, but he

-himself and the baby too, were likely to suffer from this revenge that

-he had so carefully planned.</p>

-

-<p>"What a mess I've got into, to be sure!" sighed Tad as he peered round

-with weary eyes, vainly searching the thick darkness. "Whatever shall I

-do?"</p>

-

-<p>His first impulse was to run home, confess the whole story to his

-father, and let him do what was best for the recovery of the baby.

-Tad's conscience told him that this clearly would be the right thing

-to do. But then, if he acted thus, it meant that he must face his

-stepmother's fury, and give up, for the present, at least, his plan of

-leaving home. He felt sure that Mrs. Poole would never believe that he

-had not deliberately and wilfully deserted the baby. He was certain she

-would never give him credit for his intention to bring her child safely

-back when the purposes of his boyish vengeance had been fulfilled.</p>

-

-<p>No—he did not feel he could muster courage enough to return home to

-such a greeting as hers would be, and yielding to the whispers of his

-cowardice, he determined to set out on his travels at once, without

-seeing any of his home people again, and leaving the baby to take its

-chance. Still, since his conscience gave him some sharp pricks as to

-the fate of the child entrusted to his care, he resolved that on the

-following day, he would send by post, from the first town or village

-through which he passed, a letter to his father, telling him just how

-it had happened that the little one was carried off by the gipsies who

-had been encamped on the common outside the town. This resolve arrived

-at, Tad felt a little comforted, and set out to walk to a place some

-six miles distant, where he intended to pass the night.</p>

-

-<p>In thus running away, he was conscious of only two causes of regret.

-One was his separation from Bert and Nell, and the other that he was

-obliged to give up his situation. He had feared to let Mr. Scales know

-he was leaving home, lest he should be stopped. So now he could not

-help thinking of the little ones crying because he did not come home to

-put them to bed as usual; and also of what his kind master would say

-when Monday morning came, but with it no boy to take the shutters down,

-and sweep out the shop, and get everything ready for the business of

-the day.</p>

-

-<p>"Still—all said and done—at least I'm free!" said Tad to himself. "I've

-shook off that horrid stepmother of mine, and it shan't be my fault if

-I ever see her again."</p>

-

-<p>So saying the lad drew himself up, and strode at a great pace along the

-dark road, and tried hard to believe that he had never been so happy in

-all his life.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_4">CHAPTER IV</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>ANOTHER STEP DOWN</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>IT was late that night before Tad reached the village of Pine Hill and

-approached the little, homely, old-fashioned inn which went by the name

-of "The Traveller's Rest," this being the sign of the first inn ever

-built in the place, hundreds of years before.</p>

-

-<p>The house was kept by a very respectable man, called Anthony Robson,

-and Tad had often heard his father speak of Tony Rob (as he called him)

-in high terms as a thoroughly good fellow.</p>

-

-<p>"Please can I have a bit of supper and a corner to lie down in?" asked

-Tad, timidly addressing the landlord, whose burly form was resting in a

-big armchair in the chimney corner.</p>

-

-<p>Apparently he was having a little rest and a last pipe before locking

-up his house for the night and going to bed.</p>

-

-<p>Tony Robson stared at the lad for what seemed to Tad an age before he

-replied. Then as he saw him cringe a little before the questioning gaze

-fixed upon him, he said:</p>

-

-<p>"Ain't you rather a whipper-snapper to be goin' journeyin' by yourself

-at this time of night, and Sunday too? What's your name?"</p>

-

-<p>Tad hesitated, with downcast eyes. If he gave his real name, the

-landlord might prevent his going any further; for he knew James Poole,

-and would guess that the boy was going away from his home without leave.</p>

-

-<p>"No," thought Tad, "I must give another name."</p>

-

-<p>Then as Tony, with his face growing a little stern and suspicious,

-again asked the question, the boy replied with the first name he

-could think of—Hal Barnes—this being the name of one of his former

-school-fellows who was now a farmer's boy living some miles from

-Ponderton.</p>

-

-<p>"And where may you be goin', Hal Barnes?" asked Tony.</p>

-

-<p>The second lie is always easier than the first, and to this question

-Tad replied glibly enough:</p>

-

-<p>"I'm a-goin' to Crest Mount, sir; goin' after a page's place up at

-the squire's. I'm to see him at ten sharp to-morrow mornin', and I

-couldn't do this unless I slept here to-night, for I comes from beyond

-Ponderton. Else I don't care for takin the road Sunday, and wouldn't

-have done it, if I could anyways manage different."</p>

-

-<p>"Dear me!" said Tad to himself. "How nat'ral and easy all that pretty

-little tale sounded!"</p>

-

-<p>The landlord seemed to think so too, for his face lost its stern

-expression, and he said:</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, that's it, is it? But Crest Mount is a goodish way, even from

-here; a matter of five mile or so."</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I don't mind a walk, sir," said Tad, "and I shall be rested by

-to-morrow."</p>

-

-<p>"Well now," said Tony Robson, "I take it you don't want nothin' very

-expensive in the way of supper and bed, do you?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, sir, I haven't got much money, and I can't afford anything but the

-cheapest."</p>

-

-<p>"It's too late to cook you anything, and the wife's gone to bed, but

-you can have a slice of ham and a cut of the home-made loaf, and a pint

-mug of milk. Will that do for supper?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh dear yes, sir, thank you," replied Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"And as for a bed, what do you say to a good shakedown of clean hay in

-the loft? It's sweet and wholesome, and you won't have to pay nothin'

-for it, so that'll leave you able to afford a bit of breakfast in the

-mornin'. My dame shall give you a good bowl of oatmeal and milk afore

-you start off for Crest Mount."</p>

-

-<p>"Thank you kindly, sir; I'm much obliged," said Tad.</p>

-

-<p>And glad to get out of answering any more questions, and of being

-forced to draw upon his imagination for his facts, he ate his supper

-and then thankfully went to bed in the loft among the scented hay,

-where, being very weary, he fell asleep at once, only coming back to

-consciousness when the landlord's stable-boy came in for hay for the

-horses of some early travellers.</p>

-

-<p>Tad ate his porridge, paid his reckoning, and walked briskly on,

-avoiding the busy high roads as much as possible, and taking short cuts

-across fields and through copses, lest he should chance to meet some

-one he knew.</p>

-

-<p>Once, about three miles from Crest Mount, he got a lift in a baker's

-cart, so it was only noon when he reached the place. There he bought at

-the post-office, which was also a stationer's shop, a sheet of paper, a

-pencil, an envelope, and a penny stamp, and carrying them to the Green

-where there were some benches, he sat down and wrote to his father,

-giving him an account of how the baby had been stolen, and adding that

-as he did not dare to face his stepmother after what had happened, he

-should not come home any more. He sent his best love to Bert and Nell,

-expressed a hope that the baby might soon be found, and remained James

-Poole's dutiful son, Tad.</p>

-

-<p>When the letter was posted, the boy felt as though he had shaken off a

-weight. Now he need stay no longer in Crest Mount; he would only just

-buy himself a little loaf and a couple of apples for his dinner, and

-then push on towards a small seaport called Upland Bay.</p>

-

-<p>Though Ponderton—the place where he had lived all his life—was not very

-far from the coast, Tad had never yet seen the sea. But he had read

-wonderful things about it in the absurd penny dreadfuls that he had

-got hold of now and again. His head was full of pirates, of marvellous

-adventures on strange islands, of grand discoveries of countless

-treasures in all sorts of unlikely places. Also he had a vague idea

-that, somehow or other, the sea brought luck sure and certain, and that

-if he could only manage to get to the shore, his fortune was as good as

-made.</p>

-

-<p>He walked on all day, only stopping now and again to ask his way, or to

-beg a drink of water or buttermilk at the farms he passed. But it was

-dark by the time he reached the little town of Upland Bay—a picturesque

-place, perched high upon a bold cliff, while, on the inland side, a

-wide reach of breezy downs and cornfields stretched away for miles, as

-it seemed to Tad when he peered through the darkness.</p>

-

-<p>As he trudged up the High Street, looking curiously about him, and

-eagerly inhaling the cool, strong, salt air, he was suddenly brought to

-a stand in front of the police-station. For there, in full glare of a

-lamp, he saw a large written notice posted up. With blanched cheeks and

-starting eyes he read these words:</p>

-

-<p class="letter">

-<br>

-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Missing since yesterday morning, Sunday, September 2nd, Edward Poole

-of Ponderton, aged fourteen, having with him a baby boy about eight

-months old. When last seen was carrying the child and a basket through

-the streets of Ponderton. The lad has a big head and thin body, and was

-dressed in a dark grey suit with a cap of the same, and the baby in

-a red flannel dress and coat. A reward will be paid to anyone giving

-information that may lead to the finding of the lad and infant."<br>

-<br>

-</p>

-

-<p>Here, at least, in this out-of-the-way place, Tad had thought to feel

-himself safe; but even here the hue and cry was after him, and a reward

-offered for his capture. Assuredly Mrs. Poole had lost no time. The

-telegraph had been set to work, and probably at every little town and

-village within twenty miles of Ponderton, a written notice had been

-posted.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_5">CHAPTER V</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>DRIVEN FORTH</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>LIKE one in a bad dream, Tad stood and stared at the placard. There was

-something very ominous and startling, on coming for the first time into

-this little town, to find his secret, his story there before him.</p>

-

-<p>"Ay there it is!" he muttered. "My name and my clothes and all, so as

-the perlice should be sure to catch me. Catch me? Ay, and so they may

-yet."</p>

-

-<p>At the thought, he shrank into the shadow of the wall.</p>

-

-<p>"Why, here I am, with my big head, and thin body, and I'm wearin' of

-that very grey suit and cap, and a bobby might just step out and nab me

-this minute. Now what can I do," Tad asked himself, "to put the bobbies

-off the scent and make 'em think there's no Edward Poole in the place?"</p>

-

-<p>Musing intently, the lad had moved stealthily away, and turned down

-a narrow, dark street, where he was less likely to be noticed. Once

-round the corner, he quickened his pace until he came to a little

-archway leading into some kind of a court. Here he undid his satchel,

-produced from it an old snuff-coloured suit that he used to wear when

-doing dirty work, and proceeded to exchange his tidy grey clothes for

-the shabby brown, packing the former carefully away in the satchel.

-He turned his cap inside out, and put it on well forward, shading his

-eyes; then turning his frayed collar up round his throat, he emerged

-from the sheltering archway.</p>

-

-<p>The clouds had been gathering for the last hour or two, and now the

-rain began to fall, the lamps were dim and blurred, and the lad's

-courage revived. A big cookshop attracted him by its savoury odours,

-which made the hungry boy's mouth water. While he was gazing in and

-wondering which of all the good things he should choose if he could

-afford a hearty supper, two men came up, and also paused for a look.</p>

-

-<p>Tad, feeling fairly safe in his old brown clothes, did not move

-away at once, and had not indeed taken much notice of them or their

-conversation, until a sentence—a single sentence—of their talk, turned

-him faint and sick with fear, and set him trembling all over.</p>

-

-<p>"I say, Bill, they say there's more partic'lars now about that there

-scoundrel of a boy. You know which I mean—the artful young chap what

-run off with the baby; disappeared with his poor little half-brother."</p>

-

-<p>Not daring to move lest he should be noticed, afraid almost to breathe,

-Tad listened intently.</p>

-

-<p>"No, is there, Fred?" said the man Bill.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," replied Fred; "it 'pears as if this lad Poole was a wonderful

-jealous, spiteful sort of chap, and they're half afeared he may have

-got rid of the baby somehow, just out of pure wickedness—and then run

-away."</p>

-

-<p>"Wouldn't I like to catch the young gallows-bird!" remarked Bill so

-savagely that Tad would have turned and fled that minute, but that he

-must have given himself away there and then by so doing. "I've got a

-dear little un of my own," resumed Bill in a softened voice, "only

-about eight months old too, and I know just how I'd feel to anyone as

-tried to treat him unjust and unfair."</p>

-

-<p>"Well," remarked the man Fred, "one comfort is that there's little

-chance of the boy gettin' clear away. He's safe to be nabbed sooner or

-later; I only wish I'd the doin' of it."</p>

-

-<p>Then the two men went into the shop, and Tad, with a white, drawn face

-and quaking limbs, moved away from the shop window.</p>

-

-<p>After wandering about among the darkest and poorest streets in the

-town, he found his way at last to the harbour, where several small

-coasters and smacks were about to sail, for the wind was fair, and the

-tide just on the turn.</p>

-

-<p>"Please, sir, don't you want someone to help on board your boat?" asked

-Tad of the skipper of the largest vessel.</p>

-

-<p>The man turned, took his pipe out of his mouth, and eyed Tad from head

-to foot.</p>

-

-<p>The boy winced under the keen scrutiny, and repeated his question.</p>

-

-<p>"Hum!" grunted the skipper. "And what do you know about the sea?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, lots!" replied Tad, with vivid recollections of the sea-stories he

-had read.</p>

-

-<p>"Ever been to sea before?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, but—"</p>

-

-<p>"Is your father a sailor?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, but—"</p>

-

-<p>"But what?" questioned the man roughly.</p>

-

-<p>"I've read lots about it, and always thought I'd like it of all things."</p>

-

-<p>The skipper gave a little short laugh, which emboldened Tad to remark:</p>

-

-<p>"What I'd like best to be, is a pirate."</p>

-

-<p>"A what?" growled the man.</p>

-

-<p>"A pirate, you know, sir; I've read all about them, and they has the

-jolliest kind of a life, takin' treasure ships and hidin' away the

-gold and di'monds on desert islands where there's no end of wonderful

-things, and then I've—"</p>

-

-<p>"Shut up!" roared the skipper. "Of all the precious young fools I ever

-see, you're the biggest—far away. If them's the sort of yarns you spin,

-you'd never do no good aboard of the 'Mariar-Ann.' So hold your noise

-and be off with you. I'll be bound you're a runaway from home, and your

-mother 'll be comin' along lookin' for you presently."</p>

-

-<p>"I haven't got a mother, but it's true I want to get away out of this.

-I'll do anything, everything you tell me if you'll take me to sea with

-you."</p>

-

-<p>"Now look here, youngster," said the man, "I ain't goin' to get myself

-into a mess, not for nobody. Tell the truth—are you in hidin'?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," said poor Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"What have you been up to?"</p>

-

-<p>"It's too long a story to tell here," replied the boy, peering about

-him distrustfully into the darkness. "Take me on board and I'll tell

-you all."</p>

-

-<p>"Take you aboard and run the risk of bein' took up myself, for helpin'

-you away? Not if I know it! And now I think of it—" he added half to

-himself—"wasn't there some sort of notice up in the town about a lad

-wanted by the police? Here, Tim," he called to a man who was at work on

-the vessel. "What did you tell me you see wrote up at the station?" And

-the skipper turned his head to hear his mate's reply.</p>

-

-<p>"There—you see, you young scamp," said the skipper, when—his suspicions

-confirmed—he turned once more to address Tad.</p>

-

-<p>But to his surprise, he found himself talking into empty space. The

-culprit at the bar had not waited for the verdict. Tad was gone.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_6">CHAPTER VI</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>AFLOAT</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>WHEN the wind blew the clouds away about midnight, and the moon came

-out, the cold white light falling upon a lonely high road revealed a

-wretched figure toiling on with weary, dragging steps, his garments

-heavy with rain.</p>

-

-<p>This miserable tramp was Tad. He still carried his satchel, but that

-too was drenched, and when he stopped and groped in it for some food

-to stay the pangs of hunger, he pulled out only a squashy mess of

-pulp which had once called itself a penny roll, but which now bore no

-resemblance whatever—not even a family likeness—to that dainty.</p>

-

-<p>With a sigh and a glance of disgust, Tad threw the sop into the ditch

-at the side of the road, and plodded on, splashing recklessly through

-the deep mud and puddles. The road, bounded on the right by cornfields,

-had run along the cliff keeping close to the coastline. But now the way

-cut straight across the shoulder of a promontory, and began to dip to a

-gorge on the further side, between mighty jagged walls where some long

-ago convulsion of nature had broken the cliff line of the shore.</p>

-

-<p>This gully widened towards the beach, ending there, above high-water

-mark, in soft, deep, white sand which gleamed like silver in the

-moonlight.</p>

-

-<p>To the heavy sleepful eyes of the traveller, the spot looked inviting

-enough. Sheltered from the wind, dry under foot, and as lonely and

-deserted as ever a fugitive and a vagabond could desire, this rocky,

-sand-carpeted nook seemed a very haven of refuge to poor Tad. Slowly

-and cautiously picking his way among the irregularities of the gorge,

-the forlorn lad clambered down, and presently found himself in the

-sandy corner which promised so welcome a refuge.</p>

-

-<p>Here, by the white light of the moon, he crawled in and out among the

-rocks till he found a deep bed of dry sand with large boulders all

-round it, so that it was quite a sheltered nest, shutting out the keen

-autumn wind, and screening him too from observation, had there been

-anyone to see.</p>

-

-<p>Here, then, nestling down among the rocks, and burrowing into the sand

-like a rabbit, poor Tad, lulled by the quiet, monotonous wash of the

-waves on the shingle lower down, fell sound asleep—so sound that he

-heard nothing, saw nothing. Till in broad daylight, he awoke suddenly

-with the feeling of something cold against his cheek. And starting up,

-he found a little rough cur gazing inquisitively into his face, with

-its comical head on one side. It was the little, chill, black nose of

-the animal rubbing against his cheek that had waked him.</p>

-

-<p>Tad sprang to his feet alarmed. The sun was high in the heavens; the

-hour could not be far from noon. He had almost slept the clock round.

-Only half awake still, he stared about him with frightened eyes.

-Where there was a dog there might also be people—people who might

-have heard his story, and would perhaps recognise him for the hunted

-young scapegrace who was supposed to have done away with his little

-half-brother.</p>

-

-<p>Hither and thither, with panic-stricken gaze, peered poor Tad, but no

-human form was in sight. He walked a few steps further to get a wider

-view of the shore. Rounding a corner of rock, he spied, in the cleft

-of a boulder, a gleam of colour. As he came nearer, he saw that the

-gleam of colour was the corner of a red bandanna kerchief tied round

-something, in the form of a bundle. But as the boy—cramped and stiff

-with lying for twelve hours in damp things—stooped painfully to examine

-the bundle, the dog leaped past him, and lay down by the rock with his

-forepaws on the knot of the kerchief. Made bold by hunger, and feeling

-sure the bundle contained food, Tad laid his hand upon it and tried

-to lift it, but as he did so, the dog growled and showed his teeth.

-Evidently the animal had been sent to guard the bundle, and the owner

-of both would be back presently.</p>

-

-<p>By this time the boy was perfectly ravenous with hunger, and ready to

-do anything for a meal. He did not, however, wish to run the risk of

-being bitten, and so he at first tried to divert the dog's attention

-by throwing a stick towards the water for him to fetch. But the sharp

-little cur saw through his design, and would not budge an inch.</p>

-

-<p>Then Tad took up an ocean cat-o'-nine-tails of tough, leathery seaweed,

-and tried to frighten the poor little beast away, but it only whined,

-and crouched still closer to the rock.</p>

-

-<p>Made quite desperate by the little animal's faithful resistance, Tad

-at last dragged an old shirt out of his satchel, threw the clinging

-folds over the dog's head and body, tied the sleeves together round

-the little creature, and rolled it, struggling and snapping vainly,

-into a long, bolster-like bundle. This he laid down on the sand, with

-two large stones on the outer folds to keep the dog from extricating

-itself. Then he snatched up the red kerchief and unknotted it. Oh joy!

-What a delightful dinner met the glad eyes of the famished lad. Several

-thick slices of bread and butter, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, part of

-the heel of a Dutch cheese, and a solid-looking, brown-crusted, seed

-loaf, together with a tin flask of cold coffee.</p>

-

-<p>Tad's first impulse was to sit right down, then and there, and gorge

-himself with the food. But fear for his safety mastered even the

-impulse of his hunger, and he remembered that the owner of the dog and

-the red bundle would certainly be returning soon.</p>

-

-<p>Looking about him, uncertain what to do for the best, the lad espied a

-little boat, moored to a rock in shallow water, not very far from the

-place where he was standing. And the idea occurred to him that he might

-get to the boat by wading, row off to a little rocky islet about half a

-mile out to sea, and—</p>

-

-<p>"Then," said he to himself, "I shall be safe, and I'll have time to

-think what to do next."</p>

-

-<p>Another swift look round to see that no one was coming yet—then the boy

-ran down the beach, waded into the water, scrambled into a boat, and at

-once cast off the loop of string which held her to a jutting point of

-the rock.</p>

-

-<p>The tide had turned, and away slipped the boat on a receding wave, into

-deeper water. For a few minutes Tad, in his great hunger, was so busy

-discussing the contents of the red bundle, that he was conscious of

-nothing else. But, as the first sharp pangs of famine were assuaged, he

-glanced about him, and seeing that the tide and current were carrying

-him away from the island, he threw down the remnants of his stolen

-meal, so as to take up the oars, which he had not thought of before.</p>

-

-<p>What were the boy's feelings when he found that there were no oars in

-the boat at all; they must have been left on shore, together with the

-sail and the boat-hook.</p>

-

-<p>With an exclamation of fear and horror, Tad turned his eyes

-despairingly towards the beach, hoping to see someone who would come in

-another boat to his rescue, for his little craft, borne swiftly on the

-ebb of the tide, was drifting steadily out to sea. But no—not a soul

-was in sight anywhere on land, and not a fishing-smack upon the water,

-far as the eye could reach.</p>

-

-<p>Overwhelmed with despair at this new misfortune that had befallen

-him, and perceiving dimly that this, like the others, was clearly the

-outcome of his own wrong-doings, the poor lad in despair threw himself

-down in the bottom of his drifting boat, sobbing and crying till he

-fell asleep again from exhaustion; fell asleep rocked by the swaying

-and heaving of the waters; hushed into a deep and dreamless rest by

-their wash and whisper.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_7">CHAPTER VII</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>JEREMIAH JACKSON</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"BOAT ahoy! Wake up there! Or is it dead you are?"</p>

-

-<p>With these words ringing in his ears, Tad sprang to his feet, nearly

-upsetting the little boat. The sun had gone down, the soft twilight was

-stealing over sea and sky, and close to him was a vessel, a good-sized

-schooner, laden with timber; even her decks were piled with it.</p>

-

-<p>The skipper, a fat, red-headed, freckled man, with kind, blue eyes and

-a big voice, was looking over the ship's side at the poor solitary

-waif, in the oarless, sail-less boat, while another man threw a rope to

-Tad and called to him to catch hold. The boy had just sense enough to

-obey, and the sailor drew the boat close, and in a minute or two Tad

-was safe on the deck of the schooner.</p>

-

-<p>"Where did you come from, shrimp?" asked the fellow who had thrown the

-rope.</p>

-

-<p>"And how do you come to be making a voyage all by yourself?" cried a

-second sailor.</p>

-

-<p>"What's up with your parents, I'd like to know," remarked a third,

-"that they lot you go to sea in a cockleshell?"</p>

-

-<p>"Shut up, boys, and hold your noise, all of you!" said the red-haired

-man in a voice like a speaking-trumpet. "Time enough for all that later

-on. Can't you see, you three blind bats, that the lad's half dead with

-cold and hunger and fear? Here, Frank," he called to a tall boy who

-appeared just then from the cuddy with a big metal teapot in his hand,

-"take the youngster to your place, and let him have a wash and a warm,

-and then give him some tea and cold corned beef, and afterwards bring

-him below to me."</p>

-

-<p>So, an hour later, poor Tad, clean and comfortable, and with his

-appetite satisfied, was ushered into the trim cabin, where the skipper

-sat finishing his own meal.</p>

-

-<p>"Now then, my young voyager," said he, as Tad stood silently before

-him, "give an account of yourself! How did you happen to be floatin'

-round in the sea, as I found you?"</p>

-

-<p>"Afore I say anything, sir," replied Tad, "what do you mean to do with

-me?"</p>

-

-<p>"We're bound for Granville with Norwegian pine," said the skipper; "and

-as I can't alter my course for you, you've got to go along of me."</p>

-

-<p>"And please, sir, where may Granville be? Is it in Wales or maybe

-Scotland?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, my lad, it's in France," rejoined the man.</p>

-

-<p>"France!" exclaimed Tad, aghast. "But I don't want to go to France."</p>

-

-<p>"Then I don't see but what we must stop the ship, and put you aboard

-your small boat—as we're towin' at this present moment—and let you

-drift; then, as sure as my name's Jeremiah Jackson, you'll go to the

-bottom of the sea the first breeze that comes. If you like that better

-than France, I'll give the orders at once." And the big skipper laughed.</p>

-

-<p>"Well, sir," said Tad, after a minute's reflection, "maybe, arter all,

-it won't be such a bad thing for me to go to France, considerin'—"</p>

-

-<p>"Considerin' what, boy? Now then, make a clean breast of it and tell

-the truth."</p>

-

-<p>"Considerin' as how the bobbies is arter me," replied Tad reluctantly.</p>

-

-<p>The captain gave a low whistle, and a quick glance at the lad's

-downcast face, then he said:</p>

-

-<p>"What are they after you for? What have you been and done?"</p>

-

-<p>"Well sir—to tell the truth, there's several things I done, but the

-perlice ain't arter me for them. It's for the things I ain't done that

-they're arter me."</p>

-

-<p>"It seems to me you must be clean off your head, child, to tell me such

-nonsense," remarked the skipper. "Now then, try and give me something I

-can believe."</p>

-

-<p>So plucking up courage, and seeing real kindness in the fat skipper's

-face, Tad told his story, beginning with the home miseries and his

-longing to revenge himself on his stepmother; then his making off

-with his little half-brother, and the disappearance of the child with

-the gipsies; his subsequent adventures and escapes, his thefts and

-dodges and lies, and the misfortune that had followed him all the way

-through—all this Tad told without keeping back anything.</p>

-

-<p>Jeremiah Jackson listened attentively, only interrupting the boy's

-narrative now and again to ask a question, if Tad's hesitating speech

-did not succeed in making his meaning clear.</p>

-

-<p>But when the lad paused at last, adding only, "That's all, sir," the

-skipper said:</p>

-

-<p>"So you feel as if you'd been unlucky, do you?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, sir," rejoined Tad; "everything's gone agen me from the first; I

-can't think why."</p>

-

-<p>"Shall I tell you?" asked Jeremiah, a kind, pitying look coming into

-his blue eyes, and making his big broad face almost beautiful; "it is

-hard for thee to kick against the pricks." Then, seeing that Tad did

-not understand, he added, "When we set out on a wrong and dangerous

-road, lad, we can scarce wonder—it seems to me—if we meets with ill

-luck. S'posin' now, that instead of gettin' out my chart and studyin'

-my course, careful and sure, I just let the ship drive afore the wind,

-whose fault would it be, think you, Teddie Poole, if we run slap up

-agen a rock and come to be a wreck? But judgin' from what you've been

-tellin' me, that's very like what you done."</p>

-

-<p>Tad was silent. Deep down in his heart, where his conscience was

-awakening, he felt the truth of what the skipper said.</p>

-

-<p>Jeremiah Jackson went on:</p>

-

-<p>"I know it's been very hard for you, my poor boy. I don't wonder you

-wanted to run away from home, nor I don't blame you for doin' it—things

-bein' as they was. But the trick you played on your stepmother was a

-mean thing, and it's out of this wrong-doin' that all the rest of the

-bad things has come, makin' of you a thief and a vagabond."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, sir, that's so, but what am I to do now?"</p>

-

-<p>"Well," said the skipper, "maybe you won't relish what I'm goin' to

-say, but if I was you I'd ask this here old Jeremiah Jackson to carry

-me back to England when he sails from Granville in a week's time for

-Southampton. And then, lad, I'd make the best of my way home again—even

-if I had to tramp it; and I'd tell the bobbies and my dad too the whole

-truth, and take brave and patient anything as comes after, whether it

-be the lock-up or a good hidin'. No, Teddie Poole, don't look at me so!

-That would be the straight, right, manly thing to do, and what's more,

-it would be the Christian thing too."</p>

-

-<p>Tad hung his head. Jeremiah Jackson had asked a hard thing, a very

-hard thing. And yet the good man's words had touched him; he felt the

-skipper was right. But he shrank from all that he felt sure awaited him

-at home. The thought of his stepmother's relentless wrath daunted him.

-He could almost see her frowning, hateful face, and hear his father's

-stern voice and hard words. All that he must do and suffer if he took

-the course suggested to him, came to his mind now, and overwhelmed him

-with dread.</p>

-

-<p>"Think it out, lad, to-night," said Jeremiah, "and ask the good Lord

-Who ain't far—so the Scripture says—from anyone of us, to help you to

-do the right, and leave the rest with Him."</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_8">CHAPTER VIII</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>FOXY AND PHIL</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>THE "Stormy Petrel," as Jeremiah Jackson's vessel was called, remained

-nearly a week at Granville, discharging her cargo, and loading again

-with various goods for Southampton.</p>

-

-<p>During these days Tad was in a miserably uncertain state of mind. At

-one time he would almost resolve to take the good skipper's advice,

-and go home to face bravely anything that might happen. At another, he

-shrank from the thought of returning, and felt as though he could far

-more easily brave any amount of unknown dangers, than go back to the

-home troubles that he knew so well.</p>

-

-<p>On the afternoon of the day before the schooner was to sail, Tad was

-standing about on the wharf feeling very unhappy, and very uncertain

-as to what course to take. While he wandered listlessly round, he met

-a boy about twelve years of age, with a monkey in his arms. A small

-organ was strapped across the lad's shoulders, and when he turned the

-handle of the instrument, it ground out a horrible parody of a popular

-French tune, and the monkey, leaping from its bearer's arms, danced a

-queer kind of hornpipe on the top of the organ, tossing its little red

-cap in the air, and pretending to be in the best of good spirits. What

-a feeble pretence this was, however, even Tad could see, for the poor

-little beast had a face almost as pinched and woebegone as that of the

-organ boy, and that was saying a great deal.</p>

-

-<p>As it happened, Tad was still mooning over the second half of his

-dinner, so much absorbed was he in perplexing thought. All on board

-the schooner had been too busy that day to have a proper dinner set

-out, and Tad had received his rations of bread and salt pork, and a

-substantial baked apple dumpling, and had been told to go on shore and

-eat it there. The bread and meat had been eaten, and the first hunger

-being appeased, Tad had once more fallen into a brown study, out of

-which he was roused only when the poor little organ lad and his monkey

-had come quite near, and were casting longing glances upon the dumpling

-which Tad held—only half folded in paper—in his hand.</p>

-

-<p>The mute language of want is one which the eyes speak very plainly. At

-least this language is plain enough to those who have suffered from

-hunger, and Tad knew only too well what it was to be hungry. So when

-he saw the longing look in the eyes both of boy and beast, he promptly

-handed over his dumpling, and for a while forgot his own troubles in

-the delight with which his bounty was received.</p>

-

-<p>The organ boy broke off a generous piece first for his little charge,

-then sitting down in a quiet corner of the wharf, he began to eat his

-own share, gratefully smiling and nodding his thanks to Tad, but not

-saying a word.</p>

-

-<p>"The little chap's a Frenchman, for sure," said Tad to himself, "and

-can't speak no English, and he sees plain enough as how I ain't a

-countryman of his. That's why he don't try to talk to me. Still he may

-have learned a few words of English while he carried his organ round;

-I'll try him and see if he understands me."</p>

-

-<p>"Look here," said Tad, laying a hand on the little lad's shoulder to

-arrest his attention, "are you a French boy, or what?"</p>

-

-<p>The child shook his head, but whether this meant that he was not a

-French boy or that he did not understand what was being said to him,

-Tad could not tell.</p>

-

-<p>"I do wish I knowed if you can understand what I says to you," said

-Tad; "I'd like to have a talk with you if you do but understand and

-speak a little bit of English. Now, what's your name?"</p>

-

-<p>The organ boy looked full in Tad's face, then glanced round timidly,

-and said:</p>

-

-<p>"Hush, not so loud! I'm English, like you; my name's Phil Bates, but

-I've a French master, and he's forbidden me to speak to any of my own

-people, and if he catches me at it, don't he beat me just!"</p>

-

-<p>His tone and manner were quiet and restrained, and his language more

-refined than might have been expected in a boy of his appearance and

-employment.</p>

-

-<p>"And how do you come to be with a French master?" inquired Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, my aunt, (her I lived with after father and mother died) she sort

-of sold me to old Foxy. She was poor and had some children of her own,

-and was glad to be rid of me, and so Foxy (Renard is his name) gave a

-half sov for me, and he's got me, worse luck!"</p>

-

-<p>"Was you sold here in France?" asked Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"No, Foxy went over to England for something or other. We was livin'

-not far from Southampton, and he happened to see me standin' at

-auntie's cottage door, and her close by. And says he to her in that

-wonderful lingo of his, 'Mine good womans, is dis so pretty boy your

-own cheaild?'</p>

-

-<p>"And says auntie, 'No, he ain't, he's only a nevvy.'"</p>

-

-<p>"So then Foxy says, 'It is for such boy dat I am looking, good madame;

-dis one will be quaite suit for my work, and I will give truly gold for

-him, one piece of ten shilling for the cheaild, and wat you call half

-crown for his clothes—all dat he have. So den mine good womans, is dis

-one bargain?'</p>

-

-<p>"Them was his very words!"</p>

-

-<p>"Why, he reg'lar bought you!" cried Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, in course he did. Well—my aunt she says 'No' when he asks her

-if that was a bargain, and she cried a bit and said somethin' about

-her poor dead sister's child, and cried again and said 'Yes' to Foxy,

-and—well—here I am!"</p>

-

-<p>And the boy stuffed the last remnant of the apple dumpling into his

-mouth, and getting up, slung the organ over his shoulder, and took the

-monkey in his arms again. He was just moving away, when a harsh, hoarse

-voice behind Tad said angrily:</p>

-

-<p>"And wat is dis dat I hear? Can it be dat de boy Anglais wat am in

-my care to learn de French language have once again disobey, and is

-speaking his mudder tongue? Ah, mine cheaild, you did not tink dat over

-dere, hiding and watching 'mong de rubbidge on de water side, was your

-master! But now who am you?" went on Renard, addressing himself to Tad,

-"and how come you to dis country?"</p>

-

-<p>"I came on that schooner," replied the lad, pointing towards the

-"Stormy Petrel."</p>

-

-<p>"You look not like a sailor," remarked Renard, eyeing the boy

-suspiciously.</p>

-

-<p>"I ain't one neither," said Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"Den widout doubt you shall return to Angleterre in dis same boat?"

-suggested the man.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know that I shall," rejoined Tad, his face clouding over again.</p>

-

-<p>"La France is a lov'ly country, mon cher," remarked Renard. "It shall

-be better for you to stay here; go not back across de sea."</p>

-

-<p>"But I ain't got nothin' to do here," said Tad. "No country's lovely

-when a chap's starvin'."</p>

-

-<p>"But have you not over de sea in Angleterre some peoples dat waits for

-you?"</p>

-

-<p>"No," replied Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"Good! Den hark at me!" said Foxy, laying one brown, claw-like hand on

-Tad's shoulder, and fixing his yellow-green eyes on the boy's face.

-"Let sail away dat ship, and you take service wid me. Philipe here, and

-his so lov'ly monkey shall your camarades be, and we weel go togedder

-about, and all so gay happy be—eh?"</p>

-

-<p>Tad did not answer. Here again was an offer which he did not find it

-easy either to accept or refuse. Instinctively, he shrank from this

-cat-eyed man, with his repulsive face and his strange lingo. And yet,

-would he be worse off with him than with his home people? For all Tad's

-lessons—hard though they had been—had not yet taught him that to choose

-the right—however unpromising—was the only safe way. He was still on

-the lookout for the easiest and pleasantest path through life, and had

-no thought of seeking first the kingdom of heaven and the righteousness

-of God.</p>

-

-<p>Renard waited quietly for a minute or two, furtively watching the

-boy's face. Tad glanced round and saw him, and recoiled from him as

-from some poisonous reptile. Indeed his fear of the man was so real

-that he hesitated to say the words which would pledge him to this new

-and strange service. Perhaps after all he would have decided to return

-with Jeremiah Jackson to England, had not Phil, the organ boy, gazed

-wistfully up into Tad's eyes, whispering "Do—do join us! I'm that

-lonely and desp'rate as I don't know how to bear myself."</p>

-

-<p>"You really want me?" said Tad, to whom—after all his many

-experiences—the thought of being wanted by some one was very sweet.</p>

-

-<p>"I do, dreffully," replied the child.</p>

-

-<p>"That settles it, then!" said Tad. "All right, mister," he added,

-turning to Renard, "I don't mind working for you, only what about

-wages?"</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, mine good friend, we shall talk of dat leetle affairs later. And

-for de present, will you not fetch your tings from de boat?" suggested

-Foxy with a leer that showed a line of black, ragged stumps of teeth.</p>

-

-<p>"I've got nothin' save a very few clothes," answered Tad, "but I'll

-bring 'em at once, and say good-bye to Jeremiah Jackson at the same

-time."</p>

-

-<p>"Jeremie Jacqueson?" repeated Foxy. "Say you dat he is de man wat

-sailed you to la France?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes; what's the matter?" inquired Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"De matter is dat you shall not make your adieu to Jeremie," replied

-Foxy with a threatening look. "He is enemy of me, and he weel hold you

-back and not suffer you to come wid me."</p>

-

-<p>"Nonsense, mister," said Tad, "he's got no right to interfere; I can do

-as I please."</p>

-

-<p>Foxy shook his head.</p>

-

-<p>"Fetch dose tings of your, but say not one leetle word to Jeremie of

-old Renard; so den all will go well, and when de ship sail, you shall

-be far from here, and Jeremie, my enemy, finds you not."</p>

-

-<p>Once more Tad hesitated. This secrecy did not please him; and besides,

-it seemed ungrateful to leave the good skipper without a word of

-acknowledgment and farewell.</p>

-

-<p>The wily Frenchman saw the hesitation, and determined to clinch the

-matter once for all.</p>

-

-<p>"Ma foi, mine boy!" said he roughly. "If it like you not to do wat I

-tell you, go—go to your Jeremie, and come not back. I shall find oders

-dat weel be enchante to work for good, kind, old Renard," and the man

-took little Phil by the arm and began to walk away.</p>

-

-<p>"Stop, stop, mister!" cried Tad. "Wait for me. I'll just run on board

-for my things, and I'll be with you in a minute. I promise I won't tell

-the skipper nothin', as you say he ain't no friend of yours."</p>

-

-<p>Tad kept his word, and in three minutes he had joined the Frenchman

-and little Phil, and thereby started on a new and perilous road in his

-journey of life.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_9">CHAPTER IX</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>A SLAVE INDEED</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>OLD Renard, as Tad soon found, was a Jack-of-all-trades. He could

-turn his hand to most things, though he did no sort of work well or

-thoroughly. But he was a bit of a tinker, a basket-maker, and mender;

-he could do a bit of rough cobbling for any villager who wanted a pair

-of boots mended; he could put a passable patch in a pair of trousers;

-and he could even play the dentist after a fashion of his own, and take

-out teeth, often getting a sound tooth by mistake, and very cheerfully

-giving any amount of pain for his fee.</p>

-

-<p>Then, too, he was a bit of a pedlar, and generally carried about with

-him a box of cheap jewellery, relics, and knick-knacks, on which, by

-aid of his glib tongue, he made a fair profit. He also sold patent

-pills and ointments and quack remedies to the ignorant folk, besides

-earning many a dishonest penny by the telling of their fortunes. But it

-was by the lads in his employ that he made the most regular part of his

-income, and Tad soon found that his new work was by no means a bed of

-roses, and that old Foxy was quite as fully bent upon making him serve

-with rigour, as were the old Egyptian task-masters with their Israelite

-bondsmen.</p>

-

-<p>Every morning, early, Phil and Tad were sent out into the streets of

-any town in which they happened to be. Phil had his little organ and

-monkey Jacko, and Tad was obliged to carry a much larger and noisier

-instrument, which sent forth a hoarse mingling of howl and screech when

-he turned the stiff handle, eliciting much bad language from people

-condemned to listen to it.</p>

-

-<p>Every day the lads were compelled to give their master a certain sum.

-Sometimes they earned a little more, sometimes less, but not a sou did

-he ever abate of the sum to be paid to him; and if the required amount

-were not forthcoming every night on their return, the boys met with

-punishment more or less severe, according to the state of intoxication

-reached at the time by their master. For Renard was a heavy drinker,

-though seldom helplessly drunk. His was a head accustomed to alcohol,

-and he could take a great deal without other results than to make him

-quarrelsome and violent. But in the later stages of his drinking bouts,

-he became utterly unreasonable and a perfect savage, beating the lads

-unmercifully, and using horrible language.</p>

-

-<p>It was only when he was tired out, exhausted with his own violence,

-that he fell into a deep sleep, and then the two English boys dared

-to talk freely after they lay down to rest, exchanging confidences,

-telling their respective stories, and giving each other the sympathy

-which was now their only comfort.</p>

-

-<p>To ensure that his little slaves did not run away from him, Renard

-had taken from them everything that belonged to them save the poor

-clothes they wore. He had sold their little possessions and pocketed

-the proceeds; and now he chuckled with an evil triumph as they left

-him in the morning, for he well knew that even if they tried to escape

-from the bondage in which he held them, they could not get far. Without

-money, or articles which they could turn into money, and also without

-friends—what could they do in a foreign land? Even the so-called

-musical instruments they carried were worthless, and no pawnbroker in

-his senses would have advanced ten centimes upon them.</p>

-

-<p>So passed the days and weeks, and autumn merged into winter. Frost and

-sleet and bitter winds made the lives of the poor boys yet harder to

-bear.</p>

-

-<p>Scantily fed, yet more scantily clothed, housed like dogs, their

-suffering was great, while old Foxy appeared to take a malicious

-pleasure in their misery, and taunted them cruelly when he saw them

-especially downhearted and sad.</p>

-

-<p>At first Tad bore all these new troubles with a kind of dogged,

-stubborn patience. Even such a life as this, he told himself, was

-better than that he had led at home, and as he had made up his mind to

-rough it, rough it he would.</p>

-

-<p>But after a while the growing brutality of Renard roused the lad's

-hatred and instinct of retaliation, and the man himself would have

-shrunk in startled horror, had he guessed what dark and murderous

-thoughts began to fill the brain of this poor, ill-used drudge of his.</p>

-

-<p>But it never occurred to old Foxy that there might be danger to

-himself resulting from his treatment of the lads if he drove them to

-desperation. He had no notion of their doing anything worse than trying

-to run away, or possibly robbing him of food or a few sous; and if they

-did either of these things, he thought he knew how to deal with them.</p>

-

-<p>Time went on, and now Christmas was close at hand: at least it wanted

-only ten days to the twenty-fifth, a festive season for many, but not

-for poor Phil and Tad. Poor gentle little Phil was sadder than ever

-now, for the great cold had killed Jacko, and the boy, who had dearly

-loved his little companion, grieved sorely over his loss, and clung the

-more closely to Tad as his only friend and sole comforter.</p>

-

-<p>One day Renard and the lads were tramping along a high road, on their

-way to a place some miles away. Stopping to rest awhile and eat their

-poor dinner, they were joined by two men who were evidently known to

-Renard.</p>

-

-<p>The newcomers, after a little talk, drew old Foxy away from the

-spot where the boys were seated munching their crusts and drinking

-cold barley coffee out of a bottle. Here the men were quite out of

-earshot, and a whispered conversation commenced, which seemed, from

-the mysterious faces and gestures of the speakers, to be of the utmost

-interest and importance.</p>

-

-<p>Presently it appeared that the two men were to accompany Renard and his

-boys on their journey, for when dinner was over, all rose and walked

-together towards the town, which was reached about nightfall.</p>

-

-<p>The lads slept on straw in a shed in the suburbs that night, and would

-have been thankful to rest undisturbed till morning, for they were very

-weary. But they were roused about midnight by their master's hissing

-whisper:</p>

-

-<p>"Rise and come wid me, bote of you!"</p>

-

-<p>Tad sat up staring straight before him, only half awake, while Phil

-rubbed his heavy eyes and groaned.</p>

-

-<p>"Why," said Tad, "surely it's the middle of the night, master; what do

-you want with us? We are both tired and need to sleep."</p>

-

-<p>"Hold dat tongue of yours, and get you up," replied Foxy sharply; "dat

-is all you have to do. And be queek if you would not haf the steek."</p>

-

-<p>So very weary, and full of fear and foreboding, the boys rose and

-followed Foxy out into the road, where, much to their surprise, a light

-spring cart and good horse were awaiting them, the two strange men

-sitting in front.</p>

-

-<p>"Now then, Renard," said Paul, the one who held the reins, "in with the

-children and yourself! The luggage is in already, you say? Good! Now

-are you ready?"</p>

-

-<p>"They are all in, Paul," said Jean, his companion; "drive on, my

-friend; anyway it will be one o'clock before we get there."</p>

-

-<p>Paul drew the whip across the horse's flanks, the animal sprang

-forward, fell into a spanking trot, and soon left the little town far

-behind.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_10">CHAPTER X</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>WEAK YET SO STRONG</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>THE lads dared not exchange even so much as a whisper during their

-drive, for old Foxy was close beside them in the back of the cart.

-But both Phil and Tad felt that they had cause for dread now if never

-before. Anything so unusual as a midnight drive, in the company, too,

-of strangers, had never happened before, and the poor boys, as they

-thought over everything, realised that a crisis of some sort was at

-hand.</p>

-

-<p>Of the two, Tad was the more miserable. With him, hitherto, temptation

-had invariably meant yielding, had brought fresh sin and new troubles.

-And now he feared lest once more he should fall and sink yet deeper in

-the mire.</p>

-

-<p>Since Phil and he had been constant companions, Tad's conscience had

-once more awakened. He felt that Phil was a far better boy than he

-was himself, for in all the trials, the troubles, the miseries that

-had befallen this poor orphan child, he had not lost his honesty, his

-truthfulness, nor his simple faith in God.</p>

-

-<p>Tad was conscious of this, and aware, too, for the first time for

-years, of a longing now and again to be a better lad, more like

-pure-hearted, gentle little Phil; for there was growing up in his heart

-for this friend and fellow-sufferer of his, a great love such as he had

-not hitherto thought he could feel for anyone.</p>

-

-<p>The truest of all books tells us that even a child is known by his

-doings, whether they be pure and whether they be right; and Tad, so

-strong in his self-will, and so weak in temptation, had taken knowledge

-of his little friend, and had come to know that in this frail boy there

-was a certain moral strength wanting in himself.</p>

-

-<p>And now an occasional glance at Phil's small, pale face as the white

-moonlight fell upon it set Tad wondering why this child was so

-different from himself, and whether the events of this night would

-bring to them both serious consequences, or leave them as they found

-them.</p>

-

-<p>He was still deep in thought when the cart stopped. For some time it

-had been driven across what looked like a common, a wide open space,

-with no buildings of any sort upon it; but now the halt was made at a

-little gate, almost hidden by the bushy growth of underwood and young

-trees forming a copse, which began where the common ended, and which,

-though bare and leafless now, cast a deep shadow over the road.</p>

-

-<p>In silence the driver and his companion got down from the front seat,

-and Renard and the boys from the back. Tad noticed that the man Paul

-took from under the seat a small canvas bag, in which some things

-rattled, and also a little parcel which he slipped into his coat

-pocket. The boys looked at each other, a vague horror and fear dawning

-in their faces—a foreboding of danger.</p>

-

-<p>Summoning up his sinking courage, Tad touched Renard on the arm, and

-said in a whisper:</p>

-

-<p>"Master, where may this path lead, and what are we goin' to do?"</p>

-

-<p>Renard turned upon him sharply.</p>

-

-<p>"Dat's not you beezness," he replied. "You keep wid me and speak not."

-And taking the boys by the arm, one on each side, he strode on behind

-the driver and his mate, their feet making no sound on the moss-grown

-pathways along the deep shadows of which Paul now and again turned the

-light of a lantern, so that the little party could see where they were

-going.</p>

-

-<p>Presently the copse ended in another gateway which led into a garden,

-and here, with flower-beds and ornamental trees all round it, in a

-situation which, in summer time, must have been beautiful indeed, stood

-an old-fashioned, quaint, two-storeyed house. A wing, on the right of

-the building, extended as far as what apparently was a stable yard, for

-it was divided from the garden by a wall and a high gate. As the men

-and lads stood—still within the shadow of the trees—looking about them,

-the deep growl and bark of a large dog sounded from the further side of

-the wall.</p>

-

-<p>"Hark at that!" whispered Renard to Paul. "It must cease or our journey

-is fruitless."</p>

-

-<p>"It shall cease," replied the man; "have I not come prepared?"</p>

-

-<p>And he drew the parcel from his pocket, and out of it a piece of red,

-raw meat.</p>

-

-<p>Slipping off his shoes, and signing to his companions to follow his

-example, he trod noiselessly across the gravel-walk, and reaching the

-gate in a few strides, flung the meat over.</p>

-

-<p>There was a little fierce rush and growl, a savage snap of powerful

-jaws and click of hungry teeth, then a muffled, choking howl, a

-smothered groan, and silence.</p>

-

-<p>After waiting a minute or two, Paul stole back to the little group

-still standing in the deep shadow.</p>

-

-<p>"That one will bark no more," remarked he. "Now come—there is nothing

-to fear. The monsieur and his lady are quite old, and there are only

-women servants in the place. Follow me."</p>

-

-<p>And Paul led the way round the house to the back, where a little

-scullery or wash-house was built out into the garden, with the kitchen

-apparently behind it. In the wall of the scullery, a small window was

-open.</p>

-

-<p>Paul now whispered a few words in Renard's ear. And the latter nodded

-and said, "Oui, parfaitement," then turned to the boys, who stood by

-wondering what was coming next.</p>

-

-<p>For a minute or so, old Foxy looked first at one of the lads, then at

-the other, then back at the window, as though measuring with his eye

-the available space. At last, making up his mind, he leaned forward,

-and spoke in Phil's ear:</p>

-

-<p>"Philipe, you shall go in dere, and tro' de house, and you weel for us

-open de big door or a weendow if de door be deeficult. Hear you?"</p>

-

-<p>Phil did not answer.</p>

-

-<p>Tad's scared eyes were fixed upon his friend's face, and he saw the

-thin cheeks blanch, but the boy's gaze, fixed upon Foxy, was clear and

-steadfast, and his pale lips were resolute.</p>

-

-<p>"Ma foi! Why answer you not, Philipe?" said his master, after a

-moment's silence. "Hear you?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, master, I hear," replied the boy, in a low, firm voice that

-somehow thrilled Tad to the heart.</p>

-

-<p>"Den do wat I tell. Go in dere!" And Renard pointed a crooked

-forefinger at the window. "Queek, queek!" added he, as Phil did not

-stir, "or you weel be sorry." And a threatening look in the man's dark,

-evil face gave emphasis to his words.</p>

-

-<p>Tad held his breath with a strange, mingled feeling of horror, wonder,

-and admiration, as he saw his little companion draw himself up, and

-look straight and unfaltering into Foxy's green eyes. Another moment,

-and the childish voice said firmly:</p>

-

-<p>"No, master, I will not go."</p>

-

-<p>"Wat is dat you say? You weel not?" said Foxy in an angry whisper. "But

-wait a leetle, it am you dat shall pay later, when old Renard give you

-de steek." Then he turned to Tad and said: "You did hear me wat I say

-to Philipe; well now I tell you same. Go you in dere and open to us,

-Edouard."</p>

-

-<p>Tad met his cruel master's wicked, green eyes, then glanced at Paul

-and Jean, who were impatiently waiting. The lad's courage was a poor

-one at best, and though he well knew that the crime of burglary was

-intended, and that he was required to help the burglars, he would never

-have found strength to withstand the pressure put upon him, had not

-Phil just at that moment laid his little, frail hand on his friend's

-shoulder and said:</p>

-

-<p>"Brave it out, Tad! Don't give in!" And then Tad heard the boy add

-under his breath: "O Lord, please help us, and save us from being

-wicked."</p>

-

-<p>"Wed you go in dere?" hissed Foxy again.</p>

-

-<p>"Will I?" repeated Tad, shamed out of his cowardice by Phil's example.

-"Will I, master? No, then—I just won't, so there!"</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_11">CHAPTER XI</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>GOOD-BYE TO FOXY</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>RENARD turned in a white rage towards the men, Paul and Jean, who were

-standing impatiently waiting for the result of the parley with the two

-lads.</p>

-

-<p>"What can I do?" he whispered, his utterance thick with passion. "One

-cannot use force; there might be an outcry which would rouse the whole

-house. What then is to be done?"</p>

-

-<p>Paul advanced a step and pushed him aside.</p>

-

-<p>"Since you have failed, Renard, in your half of the bargain," said he,

-"you cannot expect to share in the profits. Go away now, you and these

-useless boys of yours."</p>

-

-<p>"But Paul," exclaimed Foxy, "did I not—"</p>

-

-<p>"No," interrupted Paul, "I will hear nothing."</p>

-

-<p>And Jean added:</p>

-

-<p>"Enough, Renard; go without more words. Your belongings which are in

-the cart we will leave at No. 9 in the village to-morrow. There—that is

-all we have to say to you—now go."</p>

-

-<p>With a snarl of savage disappointment and rage, Renard, taking the boys

-by the arm, led them away down the dark, shady walk by which they had

-come, and out once more into the road, where, under the shadow of two

-great trees, stood the cart and the patient horse.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, but you weel pay for dis, mine sweet boys!" muttered Renard, as

-he dragged the reluctant lads along. "Yes, you weel pay for dis—as

-de English say—tro' de nose. Dis night you have make me lose lot of

-moneys, and old Renard, he forgives not; dat you shall remember for

-effer. Amen."</p>

-

-<p>A village well-known to Foxy was not far distant, and towards this he

-now led the two boys, muttering awful threats in mingled French and

-English, and swearing horribly under his breath. When they hung back,

-or for a moment struggled to free themselves, his cruel clutches forced

-them on.</p>

-

-<p>In this fashion the village was reached, a place which at this hour

-looked like a little city of the dead, for there was not a light in the

-one straggling street of which the hamlet consisted. But Renard went

-straight to a small house standing back a few paces from the crooked

-thoroughfare in a narrow strip of weed-grown garden. Here he knocked

-in a peculiar way—not at the door, but at the window, and in a minute

-or two the door was opened to him. A few words passed between him and

-the man who opened the door, then Renard and the boys were shown into a

-room on the ground floor, where were two straw mattresses and a couple

-a three-legged stools and a table.</p>

-

-<p>Setting down the candle which the owner of the house had given him,

-Foxy locked the door, and pulled off his rusty overcoat, first drawing

-from one of the pockets a coil of stout cord. Then sitting down on one

-of the stools, he proceeded to twist and knot this cord, until he had

-fashioned out of it a kind of rough cat-o'-nine-tails or scourge. But

-he glanced up now and again, and the malignant look on his ugly face—a

-mingling of frown and leer, full of evil triumph and covert menace—sent

-a shudder of fearful expectation through the chilled forms of the two

-lads huddled together on one of the straw mattresses.</p>

-

-<p>In a few minutes the instrument of punishment was completed, and

-Renard, getting up from his seat, came towards the bed, and brandishing

-his scourge, said to Tad:</p>

-

-<p>"Now, Edouard, hark to me! You shall take this wiep and you weel beat

-Philipe teel I tell you assez—enough. And as for you, Philipe, put off

-your coat, dat do wiep may work well. So! Allons! Begeen, and forget

-not dat you master is—"</p>

-

-<p>"What!" cried Tad, aghast. "What, master! You want me to set upon this

-poor little chap and flog him? You don't mean it—you can't!"</p>

-

-<p>"Mais certainement I mean it!" replied Foxy, showing his teeth. "Take

-dis wiep of cords and beat well Philips, or—" and the man's face

-assumed a yet more evil and threatening aspect.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't anger him no more, dear Tad," said Phil in a whisper. "Do as he

-tells you. I can bear it. I ain't afeared of a thrashin' that I haven't

-deserved. There, I'm quite ready, and you'll see I won't cry nor make a

-sound."</p>

-

-<p>But Tad that night had learned a great lesson while he stood with the

-burglars outside the little window of the outhouse. He had seen this

-gentle little lad brave the utmost that three villains could do to

-him, rather than commit a crime in obedience to their commands—a crime

-of which, but for Phil's example, Tad felt that he himself should

-certainly have been guilty.</p>

-

-<p>And now—could he inflict pain upon this brave child, for fear of

-anything Renard could do? No—the lesson had not been lost upon the lad.

-True he had been on the downward track ever since he ran away from

-home, but here was the chance for a step up. Once more a chance lay

-before him, and his resolve was taken.</p>

-

-<p>Pulling himself together, he rose and faced Renard, looking full in the

-cruel green eyes without flinching.</p>

-

-<p>"Master," said he firmly, "Phil is little, and I'm big, and what's

-more, he haven't done nothin' wrong, and I ain't a-goin' to lay a

-finger on him—not for you nor no one. I won't—no matter what you say

-nor what you do."</p>

-

-<p>For a minute old Foxy stared at the lad, hardly able to believe his own

-ears. But when Tad repeated: "I wouldn't do master, not if it were ever

-so," the man raised his sinewy right arm and with a blasphemous oath

-struck him down upon the mattress where Phil was lying. Then snatching

-up the scourge which he had dropped for a moment in the surprise of

-Tad's refusal to obey him, he began to use it upon both the boys,

-Tad managing to cover his little friend, now and again, with his own

-broader back, thus shielding him from many a blow.</p>

-

-<p>The flogging went on till Renard's arm was tired and weak. Then he

-flung the instrument of torture aside, and going back to the corner

-where he had thrown his coat, he drew out of one of its capacious

-pockets a bottle of spirit, and sitting down upon the second mattress,

-began to drink, muttering ominously the while.</p>

-

-<p>We have said that, as a rule, Foxy only became more excited and furious

-the more he took, and that he managed to stop short of the helpless

-stage. But this night, either because he was more weary than usual, or

-that he had a greater craving for the stimulant in which he habitually

-indulged, he went on drinking steadily until he passed from the raving

-and excited stage into a drunken stupor, and at last rolled over on the

-straw couch quite unconscious, the now empty bottle escaping from his

-listless hand.</p>

-

-<p>For a little while Tad and Phil lay still. Sore and aching all over,

-they had eagerly watched their master in the various stages of his

-intoxication, and now they half feared lest he should be only shamming,

-to see what they would do.</p>

-

-<p>But at last his stertorous breathing convinced the lads that he was in

-a stupor. Tad was the first to sit up, and Phil, glancing at him, was

-frightened at the expression of his friend's face. The eyes were hard

-and sullen, the mouth rigid, and a dogged scowl was sot deep between

-the brows.</p>

-

-<p>"Now at last," said Tad with a gasp, "we can take some kind of revenge

-upon that brute for all he's made us suffer. I'd like to kill him—I

-would; he deserves it. But I suppose we must be content with robbin'

-him. Where does he keep the tin, Phil?"</p>

-

-<p>The younger lad caught Tad's arm with a look of fear and horror. "Are

-you crazy, Tad?" he whispered. "Do you want to be as wicked as he is?

-After standin' out agen bein' burglars, are we goin' to be common

-thieves! Think, Tad—only think a moment! You must be well-nigh off your

-head, dear old boy, to speak of such a thing."</p>

-

-<p>"But we may never have such a chance again, Phil," said Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, that's true; and so let's clear out, and run away from Foxy.

-Better starve or die of cold alone and out in the open than live longer

-with this brute. Come, Tad—come quick, afore he wakes up."</p>

-

-<p>"But we can't get out," whispered the elder lad. "Foxy locked the door,

-and the key's in his right trouser pocket, and he's lyin' on that side;

-we can't get it nohow."</p>

-

-<p>"Then we'll get out at the winder," replied Phil. "See, it opens down

-the middle, and we can just squeeze through. Be quick, Tad; Foxy's

-snorin' like a hog now, but he may wake at any time."</p>

-

-<p>Picking up their coats and caps, the boys opened the window, and just

-managed to get through, though for Tad it was a pretty tight fit.</p>

-

-<p>Then away they went, lame, battered, and sore with their recent blows,

-but running at their best pace down the dark, crooked street, pausing

-not even to take breath, until they found themselves well outside the

-village, with miles of quiet open country stretching away before them,

-and a faint dawn just streaking the far-off east.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_12">CHAPTER XII</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>A FRIEND AND AN ENEMY</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"THERE'S one thing I wish we'd been able to do," said Phil, as soon as

-he could get breath enough to speak.</p>

-

-<p>"And what's that?" asked Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"Warn the people at that house we went to rob, and let 'em know there

-was burglars about," replied Phil. "I never thought of it till now, but

-we might have set up a screech or a loud whistle just to wake folks,

-and maybe frighten Paul and Jean and Foxy."</p>

-

-<p>"Why, you silly, we'd only have been murdered if we'd done that," said

-Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"All the same," rejoined Phil the uncompromising, "I think we ought to

-have done it."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, we can't help ourselves now," remarked Tad, with a sigh of

-relief, for his was not a martyr's spirit, and it had never occurred to

-him to reproach himself until Phil suggested that they had neglected

-their duty.</p>

-

-<p>"No," he repeated, "we can't help ourselves now; it's hours since we

-left them fellows, and any mischief as was to be done has been done

-already. So it's no good goin' back, to say nothin' of our bein' sure

-to meet Foxy."</p>

-

-<p>Phil shuddered.</p>

-

-<p>"We mustn't get into his hands no more, whatever happens," said he;

-"but he'll try and catch us, you may be sure, Tad."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," assented Tad, "we know too much about him not to be dangerous

-now we've run away. So of course he'll want to find us, and we'll have

-to look out."</p>

-

-<p>"We'd better not keep to the high roads in the daytime," said Phil; "if

-we do, he's sure to track us sooner or later."</p>

-

-<p>"The thing is, what can we do? Where can we go?" muttered Tad more to

-himself than to his companion. "Have you any money, Phil?"</p>

-

-<p>"Not a sou, Tad."</p>

-

-<p>"Nor I. And how we're to get food and shelter, or find work to keep us,

-goodness knows."</p>

-

-<p>"God knows," corrected Phil gravely, "and it's a comfort He does know.

-But now come on, Tad; we must put some miles between us and old Foxy

-afore the next few hours is over."</p>

-

-<p>For another half-hour they trudged along the road, talking busily, and

-trying to form some plan of action for the future. By this time the sun

-was rising, and the tardy winter morn had begun.</p>

-

-<p>"We must take to the fields now," said Phil. "We mustn't be seen on the

-road by any folks goin' to market, for old Foxy will be sure to ask

-everybody he meets if they've seen us, and if they had, why, it would

-end in our bein' nabbed. Come along, Tad!"</p>

-

-<p>So the boys left the highway, and clambering over a gate, walked along

-a strip of low marsh-land, which was, however, dry now with the frost.</p>

-

-<p>Here, sheltered from view by the hedge, they followed the windings of

-the road for some distance, feeling quite safe. But as the morning

-advanced, and the excitement of their escape subsided, the pangs of

-hunger and thirst became almost intolerable. And when they spied in the

-distance a little house standing among trees, they resolved to go there

-and beg for something to eat.</p>

-

-<p>As they approached nearer, they saw that the house was not an ordinary

-cottage, but a substantial and neatly built, though small, building of

-two storeys. It had a stable and coach-house at the back, and a little

-yard where cocks and hens were crowing and clucking over a feed of

-grain just thrown out to them.</p>

-

-<p>A pale, dark-eyed, sad-faced woman answered the timid knock at the door

-which Tad gave.</p>

-

-<p>"What would you, my children?" she asked gently. "You look weary and

-ill. What ails you? Tell me!" And her kind eyes rested with a wondering

-pity upon Phil, whose thin, patient, white little face appealed to her

-motherly heart.</p>

-

-<p>"We are starving, madame," said Tad, in the queer French he had picked

-up during his short stay in France; "and we have not a sou to buy

-bread. Will you, of your goodness, give us something to eat, that we

-may have strength to pursue our journey?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oui, certainement," replied the woman kindly. "Come into my kitchen,

-children; there sit down by the hearth, and warm yourselves, while I

-make ready for you."</p>

-

-<p>Soon a plentiful meal of hot milk and bread, and thick pancakes of

-buckwheat flour, was put before them. As the famished lads ate and

-drank their fill, their hospitable hostess paused now and again in

-her work, to smile at them approvingly, and heap their plates, and

-replenish their cups with a fresh supply of food and drink.</p>

-

-<p>At last the cravings of appetite were satisfied, and seeing how weary

-and sleepy the boys looked, the good woman said:</p>

-

-<p>"Listen, my children; I can see that you need rest; indeed one would

-think you had had no sleep all night. Now there is clean straw laid on

-the floor of my apple room, at the back of the house. Would you not

-like to lie down there and rest—both of you—for a few hours?"</p>

-

-<p>"Ah yes, indeed we should, madame!" cried Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"And thank you, oh, thank you for your goodness!" said Phil, glancing

-up gratefully with wistful, moistened eyes. For after all that the boys

-had known of late of hardship, privation, and above all of cruelty—they

-could hardly accept without tears, the motherly kindness of this

-gentle-hearted stranger.</p>

-

-<p>She led them to the back of the house, and opening a door, ushered

-them into the little room where the winter fruit stores were kept. On

-shelves round the walls were arranged, in tidy rows, on clean paper,

-rosy-cheeked apples, and hard, sound, brownish-green baking pears,

-while on the straw in one corner reposed several enormous golden

-pumpkins. Dried herbs of many kinds hung in bunches from strings

-carried across the room just below the rafters of the low roof, and

-little lath boxes of various seeds had a small shelf all to themselves.

-But on the floor, at the corner of the room furthest from the door, was

-a thick mass of fresh straw and hay, dry and fragrant, and to this the

-woman pointed.</p>

-

-<p>"Lie down there, my children," she said, "and sleep as long as you

-will."</p>

-

-<p>As they crept thankfully into their cosy bed, she went and fetched

-a horse-blanket and covered them carefully with such sweet, womanly

-tenderness, that Phil caught her hand and kissed it, and Tad looked

-up into the kind, sad face, his own softened and made beautiful by

-gratitude. Then with a gentle "Sleep well, my children!" their new

-friend left them to their repose.</p>

-

-<p>The boys must have slept about eight hours, for when they awoke it

-seemed to be late in the afternoon. The sun was no longer shining

-in through the slats of the shutter window; indeed the daylight

-appeared already to be on the wane. Moreover, a voice which somehow

-was familiar, and dreamily associated in their minds with something

-distinctly unpleasant, sounded in their ears, and presently roused them

-to full consciousness.</p>

-

-<p>"Hark!" whispered Tad. "What's that?"</p>

-

-<p>And the boy sat up, the old, fearful, hunted look coming back into the

-face just lately so serene in sleep.</p>

-

-<p>"It's someone talkin' with the woman, ain't it?" said Phil.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes—but don't you know the voice?" gasped Tad. "It's that man Paul,

-one of them burglars."</p>

-

-<p>"What shall we do?" cried Phil. "Has he come after us?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, no," rejoined Tad; "but p'raps this is where he lives, and maybe

-he's just got home. Listen, Phil; we'd better be quite sure it's he,

-and if the woman's told him anything, afore we makes up our mind what

-to do."</p>

-

-<p>Still as mice, the lads lay buried in the straw under the blanket, and

-listened breathlessly. Part of the talk they could not hear, only a low

-murmur of two voices reaching their ears.</p>

-

-<p>But at last the man's voice said distinctly:</p>

-

-<p>"Enough, Claudine; why waste my time and patience with those

-everlasting remonstrances of thine? See here, could all thy industry or

-mine, year in, year out, win such a pretty bauble as this?"</p>

-

-<p>Here there was a pause, as though the man were showing the woman

-something. Then he went on:</p>

-

-<p>"Let me put it about thy neck, my dear! Why dost thou draw back? It is

-but a plain gold cross and chain such as any woman may wear; take it!"</p>

-

-<p>"Never, Paul," replied the woman's voice passionately. "Never will I

-wear stolen goods. Oh, my husband!—" And here her voice broke, and she

-went on sobbingly, "thou art breaking my heart and spoiling my life

-and thine own. Think how happy we were only a short time ago, before

-the evil days of thy friendship with Jean Michel and his companions!

-Why not be content with honest labour, instead of living in fear and

-remorse as we must? For this is now the third time that thou hast

-returned from a bad night's work, bringing me gifts which I can but

-refuse as accursed things."</p>

-

-<p>Paul laughed a little hard laugh.</p>

-

-<p>"The things I bring home are but a little love-token for thee,

-Claudine. The rest of our booty finds its way to the smelting-pot

-of our Hebrew friends in the town, and thenceforth tells no tales.

-And as for my safety, wife, no fears. We work in crape masks, and we

-cover our tracks with skill. The only danger is now and then from our

-accomplices."</p>

-

-<p>"And how so?" questioned Claudine.</p>

-

-<p>Then the man told his wife how he and Jean had been joined by Renard

-and his lads on the previous night, and how, at the last moment, the

-boys had refused to do their master's bidding, so that Renard and they

-had been ordered off as worse than useless for the job they had in hand.</p>

-

-<p>"And the danger is," added Paul, "lest that dirty old rascal or one of

-the brats should carry some story about us to the police, just out of

-spite. As it was, we had a great deal of needless trouble. Had the boys

-been content to enter and open to us, all would have been so simple,

-so easy. But since they refused, we were forced to break in, and this

-made noise, and some of the household were roused, so that we could not

-get all we had hoped; and this, after our precautions, and our clever

-poisoning of the dog, was too bad! Ah!" added Paul fiercely. "Could

-I but lay hands on those two little rascals, I would teach them to

-disobey again!"</p>

-

-<p>"Did they then refuse to enter and open to thee and thy companions,

-Paul?" asked the woman.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, they said they would not go, and even the threats of their master

-availed not; and we could not use force for fear of an outcry."</p>

-

-<p>"Tell me, what like were the lads?" inquired Claudine. "Were they small

-or big? French or—"</p>

-

-<p>"Why, wife, what makes then so curious about a matter that, of a

-truth, concerns thee not?" said Paul suspiciously. "Thou art never

-likely to set eyes upon the young miscreants. That greedy old

-bag-of-bones—Renard, the thief, mountebank, tailor, tinker, and what

-not—has got the lads, body and soul, and he is not likely to let them

-out of his sight."</p>

-

-<p>"Are they French?" asked Claudine again.</p>

-

-<p>"No, certainly not. With their master they spoke the English tongue,

-and a hard, jaw-breaking, cursed language it is too. One of the boys

-was little with a pale face, and the other taller, with a big round

-head like one of thine own pumpkins, Claudine. Ah, let me but catch

-them, the young monkeys! And in the space of ten minutes, no one should

-know them for the same children."</p>

-

-<p>To this the woman made no reply that the lads could hear; but they had

-heard enough to make them look at each other in renewed fear and horror.</p>

-

-<p>"We can't stay here another moment, Phil," whispered Tad. "We must go."</p>

-

-<p>The slatted, wooden shutter which served as a window was only fastened

-by a hook on one side. Tad stole across the straw-covered floor,

-slipped the hook out of the ring, and the shutter swung open. Swiftly

-and noiselessly the boys got out, and found themselves in a small back

-garden communicating by a gate with the yard, and divided only by a low

-fence from a lane, the tall, bare trees of which they could see rising

-above the fence. To clamber over, and drop down into the lane on the

-other side, was the work of a moment. Then away—away, in the fading

-light, as though flying for their lives—sped the two poor lads, once

-more fugitives and vagabonds in a strange land.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_13">CHAPTER XIII</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>UNEXPECTED NEWS</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>THE plentiful meal and long sleep obtained through Claudine's

-hospitality and kindness, had done the lads good service. And when they

-recovered from their excitement and first dread of pursuit, and found

-themselves clear of the neighbourhood of the house, they felt strong

-enough to push on at a fair pace. The darkness was coming so rapidly,

-that the boys thought they might with perfect safety keep to the road.

-Along the road accordingly they trudged, looking carefully about them,

-however, and ready to hide under a hedge or crouch in a ditch, or dodge

-behind a tree at the wayside, at the least sound or threatening of

-danger.</p>

-

-<p>It was about eight o'clock, and they were beginning to think of making

-a halt for a rest of half an hour or so, when a slow, heavy rumbling of

-wheels along the highway made them look round.</p>

-

-<p>"Why, Phil," said Tad, "it's some of them travellin' carts the tramps

-and gipsies use, ain't it?"</p>

-

-<p>"Looks like 'em," replied Phil. "I wonder if the people would give us a

-lift just to the next town or wherever it is they're goin'!"</p>

-

-<p>"Let's ask 'em," said Tad. "See, there's the first cart quite near."</p>

-

-<p>"Shall we go and speak to that man walkin' at the horse's head?" asked

-Phil.</p>

-

-<p>"You go, Phil. You speak their lingo best," rejoined Tad.</p>

-

-<p>Phil accordingly left his companion's side, and stepping into the

-middle of the road, bade the man a very courteous good evening, adding:</p>

-

-<p>"My friend and I are very weary, monsieur, having come far. Would you

-have the goodness to suffer us to ride in one of your carts for a

-little way?"</p>

-

-<p>"Certainly, my child, with pleasure," replied the old fellow kindly.

-"Get in here. My wife Sophie and a friend of hers are inside, but there

-is still plenty of room. The carts coming behind are for the most part

-full of children and the things we are taking to sell at a fair."</p>

-

-<p>So saying, the old man stopped the horse, and the lads clambered into

-the cart, where they were kindly received by the two women, who were

-busily employed weaving rush baskets by the light of a little oil lamp.</p>

-

-<p>"Sit down there, my children," said Sophie, pointing to a sort of

-bench which extended the whole length of the cart, like the seat of an

-omnibus.</p>

-

-<p>"Maybe the boys are hungry," suggested the other woman, "and we cannot

-get supper till we find a good place for camping out."</p>

-

-<p>"Give them some bread to stay their hunger till then, Pelagie,"

-answered Sophie.</p>

-

-<p>And presently the lads were each munching away at a substantial hunch

-of bread sprinkled with salt.</p>

-

-<p>On jolted the cart, followed by three others, but it was ten o'clock

-that night before the caravan came to a place suitable for an

-encampment. Tad and Phil, grateful for the kindness shown them, and

-delighted to make themselves useful, helped to unharness the horses,

-and tether them to stakes which they drove into the ground. They

-brought water from a little stream, and gathered together, from under

-the trees by the roadside, a quantity of dead wood for a fire.</p>

-

-<p>The spot that had been chosen for camping out, was a tract of waste

-land between two hills of limestone rock. The place was strewn with

-stones, but was quite dry, and the fire blazed up merrily, shedding a

-welcome warmth, for the night was cold.</p>

-

-<p>Over this fire, as soon as it burned clear and hot, the huge soup-pot

-was hung. Into it had been put a big lump of the prepared spiced and

-salted lard (a mixture of beef and hog's fat clarified and cured) of

-which the Norman peasantry make their usual soup.</p>

-

-<p>Then as the grease melted in the pot, vegetables of several sorts were

-added, but chiefly potatoes, onions, and winter cabbage, with all the

-stale crusts and odds and ends of food remaining over from the day's

-rations. The pot was then filled up with water, a handful of salt mixed

-with peppercorns being thrown in. And soon this wonderful mixture was

-simmering musically over the fire, emitting a very savoury odour.</p>

-

-<p>While waiting for supper to be ready, some of the grown-up people

-belonging to the caravan drew to the fire, and sat down on the short,

-dry stubble.</p>

-

-<p>The children were already asleep in the waggons. A few of the women

-took out their knitting and worked their long needles rapidly, the

-bright steel gleaming in the fitful flare of the firelight. The men fed

-their horses, for there was not grass enough for their food, and went

-round looking for more wood to feed the fire, or sat in the circle,

-shaping garden sticks and broom-handles to sell at the fair.</p>

-

-<p>As for Tad and Phil, when there seemed to be nothing further for them

-to do, they came and joined the cosy party round the fire, seating

-themselves between kind old Sophie and Pelagie.</p>

-

-<p>At first there was a great deal of jabbering going on, but nothing to

-arrest the attention of the lads.</p>

-

-<p>But suddenly Phil caught Tad's arm, and whispered, "Listen, Tad! What's

-the woman saying?"</p>

-

-<p>Tad listened accordingly, and having learned enough now of the

-Normandy patois French to understand what was said, when he paid close

-attention, he at once became interested. For a woman of the party had

-said to old Sophie:</p>

-

-<p>"I forgot to ask thee, Sophie, did a letter reach thee from Angleterre,

-from thy daughter, as we passed through the town?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, Dieu merci, it did, and it was a letter that made my old heart

-glad."</p>

-

-<p>"And how so, Sophie, if one may ask?"</p>

-

-<p>"Ay, tell us!" cried another voice. "Thou knowest well, good mother,

-that all that interests thee has interest also for us."</p>

-

-<p>"After the last letter that came, I told you, did I not, my friends,"

-said the old woman, "how unhappy my poor child was?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, but not wherefore she was so vexed in spirit," replied Bernadine,

-a big woman with a baby in her arms. "Was that English gipsy husband of

-hers unkind to her?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, no, Bernadine; from the time that Jake the gipsy saw and loved my

-Marie when she was in service over there, he has been as kind as any

-husband could be, and for love of him she is more than half English

-already; but—"</p>

-

-<p>"Ay, good mother, tell us! What?"</p>

-

-<p>But what the good mother had to tell we must leave to the next chapter.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_14">CHAPTER XIV</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>OLD MEMORIES AND A NEW IDEA</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"SHE lost her little one when it was six months old," answered the old

-woman, "and she was grieving and pining, and well-nigh heart-broken,

-when one day le bon Dieu sent her, in a strange, unlooked-for way,

-another child!"</p>

-

-<p>"How so, Sophie? Tell us, good mother!"</p>

-

-<p>The old woman went on:</p>

-

-<p>"It was like this, my friends. The gipsy troupe into which my daughter

-Marie married, were encamped one day on a common, and thither came a

-lad with an infant in his arms. Towards evening, he sauntered up to the

-camp and met Marie, and asked her if she would take care of the baby

-for a while, he having business elsewhere. Marie gladly took the child,

-having no thought then but to give it back when its young guardian

-returned.</p>

-

-<p>"But night came on, and the old gipsy chief gave the word to move on,

-and the boy had not returned. And then arose the great longing in

-Marie's heart to keep the baby boy—did I say it was a boy?—to comfort

-her for the loss of her own infant. She yielded to the temptation, and

-the troupe left the neighbourhood that night, the stranger child with

-them, and Marie's sore heart has healed now she has a little one in her

-arms again. Albeit she writes me that she cannot but think sometimes of

-the child's mother, who may be sorrowing even yet over the loss of her

-baby."</p>

-

-<p>During the story Tad clutched Phil's arm.</p>

-

-<p>"Only think of that," he whispered. "Ain't it just wonderful?"</p>

-

-<p>"Hush," said Phil, "let's hear it out."</p>

-

-<p>"Said thy daughter nought of coming over to France to see thee?" asked

-the big Bernadine.</p>

-

-<p>"Pardon; yes she did say that she and her husband were trying to scrape

-together money enough to bring her over, for it is three full years

-since she left with the English family, and she is a dutiful daughter,

-God be thanked, and would fain see her old parents again."</p>

-

-<p>"And will it be soon, thinkest thou, good mother?"</p>

-

-<p>"I cannot tell for sure, but it may be soon. The troupe are near

-Southampton now, and thence, I have heard, sail many English vessels

-for la France. But who knows if Marie will get the money for her

-voyage?"</p>

-

-<p>"Knowest thou, mother Sophie," said a man who had not hitherto spoken a

-word, "that if Marie be caught by the police of the country, she could

-be severely punished for stealing that child?"</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, sayest thou so, Pierre?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, it is a dangerous thing to do, and I wonder much that she has

-escaped till now."</p>

-

-<p>"She wrote me that, for safety's sake, she burned all the little boy's

-clothes, and dressed him in her own baby's things. And also, for the

-first month, she coloured his skin and hair with walnut juice and

-water, to make him dark like her own child. After that the troupe moved

-so far away, that she thought all danger was past."</p>

-

-<p>"Without doubt she was right," said Pierre; "indeed it has proved so,

-since—but stay—who is that approaching us across the open, from the

-road?"</p>

-

-<p>"It is a man—a stranger," said Bernadine.</p>

-

-<p>"An old man he looks, by the light of the moon," said Sophie.</p>

-

-<p>"Perhaps he is cold and hungry," suggested old Jacques, Sophie's

-husband. "If so, he is welcome to a share of our fire and our supper."</p>

-

-<p>But just then Tad glanced in the direction of the newcomer, and gave a

-smothered gasp.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh look, Phil, look!" he said.</p>

-

-<p>And Phil looked and rose instantly to his feet, followed by Tad. The

-younger boy turned to Sophie.</p>

-

-<p>"Good mother, we thank and bless you for your goodness to us, poor

-stranger boys," he said, "and we ask of you one more favour. This man

-who now is coming towards us is a wicked, cruel master, from whom,

-after sore treatment, we have only just escaped. If he catches us, he

-will surely kill us. So we must go away at once, and we entreat you,

-betray us not. Say not that two boys were here but now. He cannot have

-seen us yet; so far we are safe; so, for the love of heaven, tell him

-naught."</p>

-

-<p>"Fear not, my poor children, he shall know nothing from me, nor indeed

-from any of us; eh, my friends?"</p>

-

-<p>"That is so, good mother."</p>

-

-<p>"Then good-night, my boys, and may God guard you!"</p>

-

-<p>The next moment the two lads, parting from the circle round the dancing

-firelight, had vanished into the darkness.</p>

-

-<p>As the poor lads fled once more from the approach of the old enemy,

-they were at first almost in despair. And no wonder; for they had

-believed themselves out of reach of pursuit at last. And now to see

-that wicked old Foxy apparently tracking them like a sleuthhound, was a

-dreadful thing.</p>

-

-<p>But as their fear gradually subsided, they began to feel that Renard's

-appearance among the French gipsies was no indication what over of his

-knowing where they (Tad and Phil) were; and that, had he seen them

-sitting with their hospitable entertainers round the fire, he would

-probably have been to the full as much surprised as they had been to

-see him.</p>

-

-<p>But it gave the lads a renewed sense of danger to have caught sight,

-even for a moment, of the man who had shown himself so treacherous a

-companion, so cruel a master, and it was not strange that Tad presently

-said despondingly:</p>

-

-<p>"It's no go, Phil, we'll never be safe till we're out of France."</p>

-

-<p>"Out of France? That's easier said than done," rejoined Phil. "And how

-are we to get out of this country?"</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know, I'm sure! That's the worst of it. We seem headed off

-all round. But I did hear that this road leads to St. Malo, and that

-English vessels is always comin' in and out of there. There may p'r'aps

-be some chance for us, Phil, if we get to St. Malo."</p>

-

-<p>"That's just what old Foxy's reckonin' upon our thinkin'," replied

-Phil, "and that's why he's come along this road after us, I should say.

-And he'll have a much better chance to nab us down at St. Malo than

-he's had here in the country, where there's always places to hide in.

-It's risky, and just think how long we might have to stay in the town

-before we'd a chance of crossin' over to England—if ever the chance

-came at all."</p>

-

-<p>"Ay, I didn't think of that," answered Tad. "I wish we was back in

-Granville, I do; I'd like to turn in our tracks this minute and go

-right back there. Renard would never think of our doin' that, and would

-go on to St. Malo lookin' for us. At Granville, p'raps we might see

-Captain Jeremiah Jackson again with his schooner; he that picked me up

-when I was floatin' about in a open boat."</p>

-

-<p>"But dare you think of goin' back to England at all?" asked Phil.

-"After what you've told me, I shouldn't think you'd want to go home.

-Think of your stepmother, Tad, and the police that was after you for

-takin' away your little brother!"</p>

-

-<p>In his longing to get away from the dangers and troubles that beset

-him in France, Tad had forgotten those that drove him from his native

-place, and were still awaiting him there. Now he was silent for some

-time, turning things over in his mind. What Phil said was true, only

-too true. Hard as things had been for him in France, they would be

-worse still in England, unless indeed he could do something to deserve

-and ensure a welcome at home, and also prove to the police that he had

-not been guilty of any crime with regard to his little brother.</p>

-

-<p>"You're right enough, Phil," he said at last. "There's one thing, and

-only one, that would make it possible for me to go home."</p>

-

-<p>"And what's that?" asked Phil.</p>

-

-<p>"Just this, kidnappin' that child again, and carryin' of him home to

-his mother."</p>

-

-<p>Phil shook his head.</p>

-

-<p>"That's a hard nut to crack," said he. "And I don't see much chance

-myself of your goin' to England now or ever, if it hangs on gettin'

-hold of the baby again. Oh Tad, what a pity you didn't begin your

-runnin' away from home quite by yourself; it's havin' had that baby for

-the one day, as has made all the mischief."</p>

-

-<p>Again Tad was silent. Phil's words were quite true; he knew now how

-very dearly he had paid for that bit of revenge upon his stepmother.

-Once more he was thinking things over, and going back to the very

-beginning—to the wrong start he had made on that Sunday which now

-seemed so very long ago. The events of the last few days had worked a

-change in the boy. He was beginning dimly to see how, from first to

-last, he had been his own enemy, and how he had himself to thank for

-the worst of his misfortunes.</p>

-

-<p>Phil's influence and example too had shown him, more clearly than he

-had ever perceived it before, the difference between right and wrong,

-while it strengthened the affection which he felt for this child, the

-reverence that he could not withhold, when he thought of the courageous

-soul in so frail a form.</p>

-

-<p>By contrasting what he was beginning to know of himself with the

-estimate he had made of Phil's character, he could not help feeling

-what a cowardly, selfish, contemptible sort of a fellow he had been

-throughout.</p>

-

-<p>"It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks," Jeremiah Jackson had

-said, and Tad had proved to his cost how true these words were. Just

-as some kinds of blindness can only be cured by the surgeon's knife,

-so there are some forms of blindness of the soul, for which the Great

-Physician has to use sharp remedies, ere it can see itself as it is,

-and turn repenting to Him Who alone giveth sight to the spiritually

-blind.</p>

-

-<p>"I'm a bad lot, I am, Phil!" said the boy at length, after a long

-silence, during which he was taking stock of what he was worth, and

-finding how little it amounted to. "Yes, I'm a bad lot, Phil, more's

-the pity!"</p>

-

-<p>"You've been awfully good and kind to me, Tad," replied Phil, turning

-towards him affectionately, and putting a confiding hand through his

-arm. "Yes, you've been like a brother to me, ever since that day at

-Granville when you give me and the monkey your baked dumplin'. What's

-that you're sayin', Tad dear? Do I love you? Rather! Of course I love

-you true and faithful, dear old man."</p>

-

-<p>Tad gulped down a sob.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't deserve it, Phil, and that's the truth," he said humbly; "but

-if you'll keep on doin' of it, I'll try to deserve it. There! That's a

-bargain!"</p>

-

-<p>"Let's try and help each other to be good!" said Phil simply. "Mother

-used to tell me as how, if we chose, we might always have the Lord on

-our side. And if we did have Him, we was more than a match for any

-enemy. Do you remember that story in the Bible, Tad, about 'Lisha,

-when his enemies came and got all round the place where he was? There

-was chariots and horsemen and a great host—all sent to take that one

-poor feller. No wonder his servant was frightened and said, 'Alas, my

-master, how shall we do?' For thinks he to hisself, 'Here we are—the

-two of us—all by our lone; no one to care for us, nor no one to help

-us, and the enemy down there a-spreadin' hisself like a green baize.'

-Do you call to mind the story, Tad?"</p>

-

-<p>"No; go on, Phil."</p>

-

-<p>"Well," said Phil, "then what does 'Lisha do but pray to God to open

-the servant's eyes, and the answer to that there prayer must have come

-mighty quick, for all of a sudden, the man saw plain enough what he'd

-never thought of afore—that the mountain was full of chariots and

-horsemen of fire, round about 'Lisha; and that there was more friends

-than enemies; many more for than agen them. But as mother said," added

-Phil, "God's host were there afore the servant's eyes were opened, only

-he didn't know it. And that's how it is with us sometimes. We think

-we're all alone, because we don't see the chariots and horsemen of fire

-round about us, and we don't understand how much we may be helped, if

-we will, nor how ready the Lord is to hear and answer if we pray."</p>

-

-<p>"I shouldn't wonder if you was right, Phil," said Tad; "howsumdever

-there ain't no 'Lisha nowadays, nor no chariots and horsemen of fire

-to come between old Foxy or Paul and us poor lads—worse luck! And when

-we can't see nothin', it's hard to believe that help's near. But now,

-Phil, I've got a idea, so just you listen and tell me what you think of

-it. Other things bein' equal, we'd like to leave France and get back to

-England, eh?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes," replied Phil, "I s'pose so."</p>

-

-<p>"Right so far, then. But you see I can't go back unless I can take the

-kid home with me."</p>

-

-<p>"Ay, that's clear enough," assented Phil.</p>

-

-<p>"Well then, here's what I'm a-goin' to propose. Let's go back to them

-tramps, or gipsies, or whatever they are, and ask if they'll let us

-live with them for the present. They're kind people, and if we help

-them all we can, it'll go hard but we'll earn our board and lodgin'."</p>

-

-<p>"Well?" said Phil, feeling that the most important of what Tad had set

-out to say, was unsaid as yet.</p>

-

-<p>"Well," repeated Tad, "my idea was this, that we should stay on with

-them, movin' when and where they did, and livin' their life until—"</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, I see what you mean!" cried Phil. "Until Sophie's daughter, Marie,

-came with the baby, and then—"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, that's it! Steal the baby again, and cut away," said Tad, "and

-trust to chance for gettin' across the Channel."</p>

-

-<p>But Phil shook his head.</p>

-

-<p>"No," said he firmly, "no more stealin' of babies, nor of nothin' else!

-It would be a wicked and ongrateful thing to do to them, as had been

-good to us, and beside I don't hold with bein' so secret and sly."</p>

-

-<p>"But we want to get hold of the child," argued Tad, "and we can't get

-him onless we take him like that."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know; maybe we can," replied Phil; "anyway I'd try fair means

-first. And besides, Marie might remember your face, and know you again,

-and then she'd be extra careful not to give you a chance to steal the

-baby."</p>

-

-<p>"I'd not thought of that," said Tad. "Well, Phil, say that we go back

-to old Sophie and Jacques and their people, and live with them, if

-they'll have us, and anyway, if Marie and the baby come or not, we'll

-have time to look about us and think what we'll do next."</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, that's a good plan," replied Phil; "we can't do better as I knows

-of. But while we're talkin' of goin' back to the caravan, here we are

-walkin' on, and gettin' further away every minute."</p>

-

-<p>"That's true; come, let's turn now and go back; but as we may chance to

-meet old Foxy, we'd better crawl along in the shadow of the hedge, one

-behind the other, and not talk at all."</p>

-

-<p>This was slow progress, but the only safe course, as they proved very

-soon. For they heard steps approaching along the road, when they had

-gone a part of their return journey, and in the darkness they heard old

-Renard's heavy, shuffling step, and the low muttering in which—like

-Saul of Tarsus, before his conversion—he seemed to be breathing out

-threatening and slaughter, thus pleasantly beguiling the loneliness

-of the way. That he had other and yet more dangerous consolation too,

-was proved beyond all doubt; for almost opposite to the boys, as they

-crouched trembling under the hedge, Renard paused, and they heard a

-cork taken from a bottle, and then deep swallows of drink; probably the

-stimulant in which his soul chiefly delighted; the new and fiery cognac

-which is reckoned among the worst and most harmful of intoxicants.</p>

-

-<p>Having drunk deeply, Foxy passed on.</p>

-

-<p>But it was not until his footfall had ceased to sound upon the hard

-road, that the lads dared to creep from their hiding-place, and resume

-their journey back to the camp.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_15">CHAPTER XV</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>TURNING THE TABLES</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>IT is said, and with truth, that all, or nearly all, wandering races

-are rich in the grace of hospitality, and these French gipsies, or

-rather tramps of a mixed race, had kind hearts, as Tad and Phil proved.</p>

-

-<p>Poor, outcast, homeless creatures as they were, strangers in a strange

-land, these good people had asked of them but few questions, but made

-the boys heartily welcome, giving them permission to continue with the

-troupe so long as it suited them to do so.</p>

-

-<p>Old Jacques had said, furthermore, when he yielded to the earnest

-entreaty of the lads, "Yes, my children, and I accept your offer of

-service. We are not rich, and we cannot afford to keep anyone in

-idleness. You will therefore work as we do, and be one with us in all

-things, subject also to the laws that govern us. For we have our own

-rules which we strictly enforce, and punishment is inflicted upon all

-those who break them."</p>

-

-<p>The boys had readily promised obedience. Any rule, any yoke of service,

-would be light, and even pleasant, after the miseries of their late

-servitude, and now they gladly resolved to be docile, industrious,

-and helpful. Very soon they found they were taken at their word, and

-that there was no want of employment for anyone willing and able. They

-learned the art of basket-making, Phil's slender hands being specially

-clever in this. They made flower-sticks, clothes-pegs, twig-brooms,

-and broom-handles. They caned chairs, mended kitchen furniture for the

-poor people, and did a little rough tinkering. Phil, too, soon proved

-himself a good hand at weaving big rush hats for farm labourers, and

-very proud he was when he could hand over into good mother Sophie's

-care a handful of coppers, the wages of his industry.</p>

-

-<p>Tad, on the other hand, was just as useful in the heavier and rougher

-work, and in the daily routine duties of the camp. He felt it no

-indignity to be a hewer of wood and drawer of water to the kind people

-who had extended towards him and Phil so generous a helping hand in

-their dire distress and destitution.</p>

-

-<p>Ready in all things else to do the gipsies' bidding, the boys had

-begged that they should never be sent on errands that necessitated

-their going any distance alone. They had told Jacques and Sophie

-enough of their story to bespeak the sympathy and protection of the

-good old couple, and to show them that a meeting with Renard, Paul,

-or Jean might prove dangerous to their freedom, and possibly even to

-their lives. So the lads were kept to duties within the precincts

-of the camp; and in the busy, out-of-door life which they led, they

-lost, after a while, all fear of the evil men, the dread of whose

-reappearance had hitherto haunted them like evil phantoms.</p>

-

-<p>For some time they heard nothing more about Marie and her plans. But

-one day Sophie and Jacques were talking together, and Tad heard what

-was said. The gipsies had decided to go on the next day to St. Malo,

-and encamp in a piece of waste ground about half a mile out of the town.</p>

-

-<p>"At the town post-office, a letter from our daughter will probably be

-awaiting us," Sophie had said, "and let us hope she will soon follow

-it, coming by one of the steamers that bring passengers to this port."</p>

-

-<p>The next day the little procession of gipsy vans passed through the

-town, not stopping, however, anywhere until it reached the open space

-where the troupe could encamp without fear of disturbing anyone, or

-being themselves molested.</p>

-

-<p>One morning Tad and Phil were busy helping Sophie and Pelagie with the

-noonday meal. It was not often these gipsies had meat or poultry of any

-kind, but to-day one of the party had bought from a farmer's man, for a

-mere trifle, an antiquated rooster of venerable aspect, and the whole

-company were in high glee at the thought of adding this dainty to the

-usual soup.</p>

-

-<p>But first old chanticleer must be plucked and cleaned, and Tad was set

-to work at this, while Phil helped to wash turnips and carrots, and

-peel onions and potatoes for the pot-au-feu.</p>

-

-<p>Jacques and one or two of the men had gone into the town to call at

-the post-office and make some necessary purchases, and the rest of the

-troupe were employed about the camp in various ways.</p>

-

-<p>It was one of those mild mornings in March which come sometimes,

-closely following a storm of wind and rain, and which give, in their

-balmy freshness and sweetness, promise of the yet fairer time at hand.</p>

-

-<p>Light-hearted as the birds, the boys were chattering over their work,

-breaking out, now and again, into some fragment of English song, when

-a voice behind them said, "Bon jour, mine cheeldren! So I you have

-found at de last, you were naughty boys. Oh unkind and tankless to run

-yourselves away from de good, kind master, from dis poor old Renard dat

-did lofe you so moche!"</p>

-

-<p>The boys started and turned. Tad, in his horror, almost tumbled the

-ancient fowl—now partially denuded of his scant feathers—into the fire,

-and Phil overturned the big basin of water into which he was putting

-his peeled vegetables.</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, mine leetle dears!" went on Renard with his evil, sneering smile.

-"You am agitate. It is widout doubt from de joy to see once more you

-dear old master. Ah, truly yes. Well now we am discover one anoder,

-you shall bote come back to me, and all weel be as before, but steel

-better. Oh yes, believe me, mine dears, so moche better."</p>

-

-<p>The lads, paralysed with terror, still said nothing, and just at that

-moment, up came old Sophie and Pelagie to see if the provisions in hand

-were ready yet for the big pot which they had filled at the brook. As

-Sophie approached, Tad made a spring, and falling on his knees before

-her, caught her gown.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh dear mother, good mother Sophie, here is this dreadful man!" he

-cried. "It is he—our master of whom we told you! Give us not up to him!

-For God's sake suffer him not to take us away with him!"</p>

-

-<p>Phil said nothing, but he too had come near, and with pleading eyes

-fixed on the old woman's face, awaited her answer.</p>

-

-<p>She put a motherly hand upon each of the boys, and turning to Renard

-said:</p>

-

-<p>"Surely, monsieur, I have seen you before! Did you not come to us some

-nights ago, on the other side of St. Malo?"</p>

-

-<p>"Madame, you are right," replied Renard, doffing his greasy cap and

-making a low bow which had about it an insulting air of mockery.</p>

-

-<p>"And on that occasion," went on Sophie, "you made inquiry respecting

-two lads?"</p>

-

-<p>"I did so, madame; once more you are entirely right."</p>

-

-<p>"Are these the lads then, monsieur?"</p>

-

-<p>"These are they, madame, sans doute. The eye of love—such love as I

-have for these dear petits garcons—" and Foxy showed his teeth—"is not

-to be deceived."</p>

-

-<p>"What then do you want, monsieur, now you have found them?" asked

-Mother Sophie.</p>

-

-<p>"Madame, you are a stranger to me!" cried Foxy. "You know not—how

-should you?—this heart of mine, or you would not make such an inquiry.

-Unworthy, ungrateful as these children are, I am ready (such is my

-magnanimous nature!) to forgive and receive them back into my affection

-and my service."</p>

-

-<p>"Hein, monsieur! Eh bien!" cried the strident voice of Pelagie, who

-had hitherto stood silent. "But what say the boys to this? You say you

-are willing to have them back; now the question is, are they ready to

-return to you? For there should be two sides to a bargain, monsieur, as

-all the world knows."</p>

-

-<p>"You have reason, Pelagie," said Sophie quietly. "What say you, my

-children?" and the old woman's voice softened, and her face grew tender

-and pitiful, as the lads clung to her in their fear and distress. "What

-say you, will you go with Monsieur Renard, your former master?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, no, good mother, never! Never again!" cried both boys at once.</p>

-

-<p>Old Sophie turned once more to Foxy.</p>

-

-<p>"You see, monsieur, that these lads do not wish to avail themselves of

-the kindness you offer them, so there is nothing more to be said, and I

-will wish you bon jour, Monsieur Renard."</p>

-

-<p>Renard's face at this lost its mocking grin, and became dark and

-louring.</p>

-

-<p>"And know you not, you stupid gipsy woman," he shrieked, "that I—Jules

-Renard—have a right to these children? And I swear to you—ugly old hag

-that you are—if you give them not up to me this very minute, I will

-bring the police from, the town, and then, not only will the lads have

-to come with me, but you will be punished for detaining them."</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, Monsieur Renard, if it comes to talk of police, perchance you

-are not the only one who may have somewhat to say," remarked a deep,

-stern voice behind Foxy. And good old Jacques, backed by two of the

-troupe—stalwart nephews of his—appeared on the scene. "Listen, my

-friend; we have information that you, and two worthy companions of

-yours, were more or less concerned in a burglary not very far from

-here, and their names and the home of one of them are known to us. We

-are quiet people, Monsieur Renard, and we seek no quarrel with any; but

-another word from you, another threat against us or these children, and

-at once we give in our information at headquarters at St. Malo. And

-as for your treatment of the boys—there is a law in France to protect

-them, and to punish those who sin against them. Look to yourself, you

-fox by name and fox by nature. Seek not to meddle with these lads, or

-you may find yourself where you would rather not be."</p>

-

-<p>The stern, uncompromising manner and words of the old gipsy seemed to

-make an impression on Renard, who cowered and cringed as the man was

-speaking. But he turned it off lightly, only saying as he turned away:</p>

-

-<p>"That is all nonsense; you could not hurt me if you would. But of

-course I will not press this matter of the boys, if they do not wish to

-return to me. Keep them, if you like to do so, and I wish you joy of

-your bargain. You will repent it some day."</p>

-

-<p>Once more bowing low, cap in hand, and a sardonic leer on his thin

-lips, Renard bade the gipsies good day, while, watching him till out

-of sight on the St. Malo road, Tad and Phil at last dared to breathe

-freely once more.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_16">CHAPTER XVI</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>TAD HARDENS HIS HEART</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"PHIL, Phil, they're just comin'. I'm first, 'cause I ran on before;

-but they're—"</p>

-

-<p>"Who, Tad?" inquired Phil, who was sitting under the shelter of Mother

-Sophie's cart, very busy finishing a huge hat.</p>

-

-<p>"Why, who should it be but Marie and the baby?"</p>

-

-<p>"You don't say!" cried Phil, jumping up.</p>

-

-<p>"You know I went with Father Jacques to St. Malo, this morning,"

-explained Tad. "Well, the chap at the little place on the quay said

-the passengers by the boat 'Princess,' had arrived, and was now in the

-Custom House.</p>

-

-<p>"And says Father Jacques to me, 'My daughter Marie was to come in the

-"Princess." Wait here a moment while I go up to the Custom House.'</p>

-

-<p>"So I waited, and sure enough, the Customs door opened, and out comes

-the woman, and on her arm the little un, growed into quite a big boy,

-and lookin' as though he could run alone as well as me or you."</p>

-

-<p>"Did she see you, Tad?" asked Phil.</p>

-

-<p>"No, I turned sort of sideways so as not to look her in the face.</p>

-

-<p>"But Father Jacques, he calls out to me, 'Here, Edouard, run back to

-the camp and tell the mother we come.'</p>

-

-<p>"So off I goes like a shot, and here I am."</p>

-

-<p>"You've told Mother Sophie?"</p>

-

-<p>"Oh yes, and she and Pelagie set to work to make coffee for Marie. It

-would be tea if we was in England. My eye! Shouldn't I like a good cup

-of tea again!"</p>

-

-<p>"Well now," said Phil, sitting down again to his work, "what do you

-think of doin' about that child?"</p>

-

-<p>"I give it up; ask me another," replied Tad, half vexed, half laughing.

-"Blest if I know what to do! I want to get back to England, and yet I

-can't go home without the child, and—"</p>

-

-<p>"But you won't steal him, will you, Tad?" questioned Phil very

-earnestly.</p>

-

-<p>"I don't know about that," replied Tad, "can't promise. 'Taint likely

-Marie 'll give up the little chap of her own free will, just when

-she's got used to him and all. No, Phil, nor I don't see no great harm

-neither, in takin' him away. He ain't no property of hers. She stole

-him, and it would only be givin' her tit for tat."</p>

-

-<p>"My mother used to say two wrongs don't make a right, Tad, and after

-all it wasn't Marie who stole him first of all. It was you."</p>

-

-<p>"But I never meant to keep him, you see; I was a-goin' to take him home

-when I'd given his mother one for herself."</p>

-

-<p>"Tad, listen to me," said Phil; "you've been so nice and good and dear

-this long while now, and always done things I asked you, even when they

-was hard. Now do promise me, dear old chap, that you won't do nothin'

-but what's quite straightforward and honest." And Phil looked up in the

-elder boy's face with that wistful entreaty in his eyes which Tad had

-always found it hard to resist.</p>

-

-<p>But he was in a perverse mood to-day. One of his unreasonable, restless

-fits was upon him too, and the thought of some wild, lawless adventure

-was sweet to him. Some lessons Tad had learned from the teachings of

-adversity and from Phil's influence and example, but in many ways he

-was the old self-willed Tad still. No—assuredly he would not allow

-himself to be persuaded into making this promise, for if he did, he

-must keep it, and then—why then some good chance might slip by, and he

-might never get back to England at all.</p>

-

-<p>"No, Phil," he said. "I won't promise; how can I tell what may turn up?

-And I ain't goin' to tie myself in a hard knot for you nor no one. So

-there!"</p>

-

-<p>Phil said no more, but turned away sighing.</p>

-

-<p>The recognition which Tad had tried to avoid was bound to come some

-time, and come it did the very next morning. Marie was strolling about

-the camp field with the child toddling beside her, when she met Tad

-face to face. He cast down his eyes and would have passed on, but she

-stopped him.</p>

-

-<p>"Where have I seen you before, my boy?" she asked in French. But

-suddenly her face changed, she snatched the baby up, and held

-him close. "Ah," she added, "I remember now; yet it seems almost

-impossible."</p>

-

-<p>Still Tad said nothing, and there was a dead silence between them for

-what seemed like a very long while.</p>

-

-<p>"You are English?" said the woman at length.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, missis," replied Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"Have you met me before?"</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, missis, when—when you stole that there child as you've got in

-your arms. He's my little brother, he is."</p>

-

-<p>"I don't believe it," said Marie, speaking now in English. "If he'd

-been your brother, you wouldn't have trusted him to a stranger like me,

-or you'd have come back sooner to fetch him."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, anyhow he's my half-brother," said Tad, "and how was I to know

-you was goin' to run off with him? You looked honest enough, and I

-thought you was so."</p>

-

-<p>"Does anyone here know about your bein' the boy that I—I—?"</p>

-

-<p>"No—only my chum, Phil Bates. He knows all about me."</p>

-

-<p>"Not my father and mother?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, no one else."</p>

-

-<p>"Good? Then hold your tongue about it still, and I'll make it worth

-your while," said Marie. "I love the child and he loves me, and I mean

-to bring him up as my own. Has he got a mother livin'?"</p>

-

-<p>"He had, seven months ago," replied Tad, "and I s'pose she ain't dead

-yet. That sort in general makes out to live," added the lad with a

-sniff of disgust.</p>

-

-<p>"And you—how came you here?"</p>

-

-<p>"That story's too long to tell," replied Tad, not over civilly, for he

-was chafed at the woman's manner, and the attitude she had assumed as

-regarded the child.</p>

-

-<p>"And when are you goin' away?" asked Marie.</p>

-

-<p>"Don't know, missis," said Tad, "and what's more I must get to my work

-now." And he turned away and joined Mother Sophie, helping her to scour

-some pots and pans down by the brookside.</p>

-

-<p>The foregoing conversation Tad repeated to Phil that night, adding,

-"Now you see, Phil, what I said was true. A woman like that won't part

-with the little 'un willin' and free, and I'll never get him at all

-unless I take him and French leave at one and the same time. After this

-talk as have passed betwixt me and Marie, what say you now?"</p>

-

-<p>"Just what I said afore, Tad. It's no use doin' wrong to bring about

-what we want to happen. Cheatin' and story-tellin' and stealin' and

-deceivin' is wicked, and sooner or later people gets paid out that does

-them things, no matter what the reason is."</p>

-

-<p>"There you go again!" grunted Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"Tad, dear, don't turn away lookin' so vexed. I want to help you; I

-will help you, if you'll let me. Let me have a talk with Marie and

-tell her your story, and how you've been hunted about just because of

-the child. I can't help thinkin' she'll be sorry for you, and let you

-have the little 'un, or what would be better, let you go with her on

-the steamer when she starts for Southampton to go back to her husband.

-Shall I tell—?"</p>

-

-<p>"It's no use, Phil!" cried Tad. "If you'd seen her face to-day when she

-spoke of the baby, you'd never believe she could change."</p>

-

-<p>"Well," persisted Phil, "s'posin' she won't listen to us, still maybe

-Father Jacques and Mother Sophie would. We did a foolish thing, Tad,

-not to say all we knowed, when we heard the old folks tellin' what

-Marie had written in her letter. If we'd spoke of it there and then,

-and they'd heard your story, they'd have been on our side now—maybe."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, well," said Tad impatiently, "that's bygones—that is! What's the

-use of thinkin' about it?"</p>

-

-<p>"If Marie don't give up the baby here, she could be made to in

-England," said Phil. "Why don't you write to your dad, as soon as we

-know when she's goin' back? Tell him she's got the child, and he'll

-take care of the rest."</p>

-

-<p>"How stoopid you are, Phil! That ain't all I'm after," said Tad

-crossly. "The baby ain't everything; I want to go back to England

-myself. If Dad got the baby home, he wouldn't care a straw what became

-of me; and that old cat of a stepmother of mine would be glad enough if

-nothin' was never heard of me no more. So you see I might stay here all

-my life. I must take the child myself or be here for good and all."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, if Marie will let you have him, that's all right," said Phil;

-"but Tad, dear, don't do nothin' you'll be sorry for after. Remember

-how you told me of such a many things you'd had to make a choice of,

-and you said you'd chose what you thought you'd like best, or what

-seemed easiest, and only see what have come of it! And it was only when

-we made up our minds not to do wrong, that God sort of opened up the

-way afore us, and got us clean away out of old Foxy's clutches. Tad,

-dear, them as tries to do the right thing God always helps, but no one

-can't expect help from Him if he does wrong."</p>

-

-<p>"Shut up with your preachin', Phil!" cried Tad impatiently. "If you was

-a parson and me the congregation, stuck fast in the pews, I'd be bound

-to listen; but you ain't, and I ain't, so hold your noise. The baby's

-my half-brother, not yours; he wasn't stole from you—was he? So it's

-none of your business. I'll do as I choose—I will—so there!"</p>

-

-<p>Tad had never before spoken harshly to his companion, and even as he

-uttered the words, his heart and conscience smote him.</p>

-

-<p>He saw Phil's head droop suddenly, and the thin cheek flush and pale

-again. He even thought he heard a half-suppressed sob, when the little

-fellow turned away without another word.</p>

-

-<p>But like Pharaoh of old, he hardened his heart, muttering, "What if he

-be hurt a bit! Sarve him right for meddlin' with what don't consarn

-him."</p>

-

-<p>Then he went off to his work of hobbling the horses for the night, at

-the other end of the field, and nothing more passed between him and

-Phil, nor did they see each other again till morning.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_17">CHAPTER XVII</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>AGAINST THE PRICKS</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>SOME days passed, and meanwhile Tad's idea of running off with the

-child secretly was so much in his mind, unresisted, unchecked, that

-at last it became a distinct purpose for which he began once more to

-plot and plan. The foolishness and the utter recklessness of such a

-proceeding were lost sight of in his great desire to accomplish what

-he had at heart, namely his return to England and the restoration of

-the baby to its mother, by way of securing safety and a welcome for

-himself. The difficulties and dangers he did not take into account

-because he would not. Obstinately bent upon carrying out his idea, he

-made everything else yield; he was even prepared to part from Phil,

-rather than give up his purpose.</p>

-

-<p>We have seen that during the time of the worst of the troubles that

-had befallen the boys, Tad's heart had softened, his character had

-improved. But the great change by which all things are made new, had

-not yet come into the boy's soul. Self-will still ruled there, and it

-would need a yet sharper lesson ere the altar of this idol could be

-thrown down, and its sceptre broken.</p>

-

-<p>Since the day when Phil's remonstrance and appeal had called forth

-those cruel words from Tad, the younger boy had not ventured to mention

-the subject. But he had gone about with a heavy heart and a sad face,

-for he loved Tad dearly, and the estrangement between them hurt him

-sorely.</p>

-

-<p>He was anxious, too, for he could see plainly enough by the sullen,

-brooding look in Tad's face, that he had by no means relinquished

-his idea, but was only considering how best to work it out. Phil did

-not know what to do. He could not bear the thought of acting the

-tale-bearer, of going to Marie and warning her against his friend.

-Still less could he entertain the idea of saying anything to Jacques

-and Sophie. So that, between disloyalty to Tad on the one hand, and

-disloyalty to their kind friends on the other, Phil was indeed in

-straits—and very sore straits for a child of his years. He could only

-hope that the time of Marie's departure would come soon, and that

-meanwhile Tad would have no chance to carry off Baby Victor, as his

-gipsy mother called him.</p>

-

-<p>One morning about a week later, Marie received a letter from her

-husband, who announced his intention of coming over to fetch her. He

-said he should be sailing in a little vessel belonging to a friend, and

-he hoped to be at St. Malo shortly. He intended, he said, to spend a

-day or two with his father and mother-in-law, and then take his wife

-and the child back to England in the same boat that had brought him.</p>

-

-<p>"I must go to meet my husband to-night, mother," said Marie, two days

-later; "the boat is sure to be in."</p>

-

-<p>"I will go with thee," replied Sophie, "and thou, Jacques?"</p>

-

-<p>"I go too, of course," said the old man.</p>

-

-<p>"Wilt thou take the child, Marie?" inquired Sophie.</p>

-

-<p>"No, mother, I hardly think it would be well to do so. Poor Victor has

-seemed very feverish and languid these last days, and the night air

-would be bad for him. I will put him to bed before I go, and he will

-then sleep, I hope, and so will not miss me."</p>

-

-<p>"Pelagie will attend to him should he cry," said Sophie, "but I daresay

-he will sleep soundly till thy return."</p>

-

-<p>Phil did not overhear this conversation, but Tad happened to be at work

-close by, and heard every word.</p>

-

-<p>"This is goin' to be my chance!" he said to himself. "For once in a way

-I'm in luck, but I'll not tell Phil or he'd spoil all the fun."</p>

-

-<p>During the time that had gone by since first he meditated flight with

-the baby, Tad had contrived to scrape together a little money. Now

-and again, when in the town with Jacques, he had earned a sou or two,

-holding horses or carrying boxes and parcels from the wharf, or running

-errands, and the coppers he received Jacques allowed him to keep for

-himself. So that he had about a franc and twenty-five centimes, as

-nearly as possible one shilling of our money.</p>

-

-<p>At dinner that day he asked for more bread, and hid a big hunch away

-in his pocket. This was all the preparation that he could make for his

-journey, and blindly, obstinately, set upon his own way he must indeed

-have been, to think of undertaking it so poorly equipped. But there is

-no limit to the foolhardiness of self-will, when once it has, like a

-runaway horse, got the bit between its teeth; and so was it now with

-poor Tad's besetting sin.</p>

-

-<p>As evening approached, circumstances favoured the lad's design, for

-Phil was called by one of the men to accompany him to a neighbouring

-hamlet with baskets to sell, and Pelagie occupied herself with

-preparing supper contained in the usual big pot, into which she was

-shredding herbs of many kinds. For now the wild green plants were

-coming up with tender shoots, and none knew better than the gipsy woman

-which of them lent an appetising flavour to the soup.</p>

-

-<p>"Here, Edouard," said she to Tad, who was loafing about and watching

-his chance. "Step into Marie's waggon, will you, and look at the child.

-If he seems restless or uneasy, take him up and rock him gently in your

-arms till he is quiet. You can stay with him, for I do not need your

-help here. Go then at once; I shall be more at ease if I know you are

-with him."</p>

-

-<p>Tad, with an eagerness which he tried to hide, turned to obey. He

-entered the waggon where his little half-brother was fast asleep, and

-stood looking at him a moment by the light of a tiny lamp fixed into a

-brass socket on one of the walls of the cart.</p>

-

-<p>The little fellow's cheeks were scarlet, and through the parted lips

-the breath came in a quick, irregular way which was not natural.</p>

-

-<p>"Ought I to take him when he ain't quite well?" thought Tad; but once

-more his great desire conquered all conscientious scruples. "It's now

-or never," he muttered.</p>

-

-<p>And having made up his mind, he looked all round for some warm wrap in

-which to enfold the little fellow. Presently he saw a large, dark cloak

-of Marie's hanging from a nail. This he reached down, lifted the baby

-very cautiously, and throwing the cloak over him, even covering the

-face, he stepped out of the cart, peering round suspiciously for fear

-someone might be watching.</p>

-

-<p>It was already dusk, and another of the waggons stood between him and

-Pelagie, screening him from view. The rest of the troupe were scattered

-in various directions. No one was near but Pelagie, and she was

-preoccupied with her cooking.</p>

-

-<p>A few long, stealthy strides and Tad had reached the road. Here he

-paused a moment, looking this way and that, screened by some bushes;

-but no one was in sight.</p>

-

-<p>"Now for Granville and England!" he said to himself, and gathering the

-living bundle closer in his arms, he set off at a quick walk in an

-opposite direction from that which led to St. Malo. He had before him a

-long tramp, he knew, for Granville was nearly sixteen miles away.</p>

-

-<p>What he was to do when he got there was not very easy to determine, but

-what he hoped for was to find Jeremiah Jackson and his "Stormy Petrel,"

-and get a free passage over to Southampton. He had no idea, however,

-how often the skipper made his voyages, and therefore he knew he might

-have to wait a long time. But he had not considered how the baby and he

-were to live while thus waiting. Self-will is generally short-sighted,

-and does not take into account possible consequences, when following

-its own headlong course.</p>

-

-<p>The baby's weight, Tad soon found, was far greater now than it had

-been on that memorable Sunday nearly seven months ago. And the pace

-at which the runaway started to-night from the gipsy camp slowed down

-perforce after a while. By this time the night had closed in, and Tad

-was thankful for the darkness which hid this last evil deed of his.

-For now that the first excitement was over, he was beginning to feel

-that the deed was indeed evil. And as he trudged along, carrying the

-thrice-kidnapped child, he gradually realised to some extent what he

-was doing, and what a heavy price he was paying for his own way.</p>

-

-<p>Again before him, in the mirror of memory, rose the earnest, patient

-face of little Phil whom he had so disloyally deserted. Again he saw

-the look of pain which his own cruel words had called into those

-wistful eyes, those sensitive lips. Yes, he had lost Phil, dearly

-though they had loved each other, bitterly though they had suffered

-together. Then too, how had he requited dear old Mother Sophie and

-Father Jacques for all their kindness? Yes—they too were now among the

-losses which he had that night sustained. These true friends lost; and

-all for what?</p>

-

-<p>Poor Tad was obliged to confess to himself that he had precious little

-to show in exchange. True he had gratified his self-will, but so far

-the gratification was of a decidedly qualified character. He was

-growing very tired, and so hungry that he was obliged to stop and take

-out his piece of bread to munch as he went along. Then, too, the child

-had begun to wail piteously in a hoarse voice that frightened him, and

-Granville was still nine miles off.</p>

-

-<p>But for the demon Pride which kept whispering in his ear, the lad

-would have turned back even now to the camp; but he told himself that

-he could not bear to return to his friends confessing himself in the

-wrong. No, he felt he must go on now, having, by this last act of his,

-cut himself adrift from all who had befriended him.</p>

-

-<p>All night Tad walked on, but in the morning he got a lift in a light

-cart that was going in to an early market at Granville. Worn and jaded

-and utterly disheartened, he and his now slumbering charge were driven

-into the town.</p>

-

-<p>"The brat is a-goin' to be ill, I do believe," said Tad, peering down

-into the little flushed face lying against his shoulder. "Just like my

-luck!"</p>

-

-<p>"Had you not better take him to a doctor?" said the driver of the cart.

-"There is one living in this street, and he is very kind to the poor;

-he is sure not to charge you anything."</p>

-

-<p>"Thank you; then I will," replied Tad.</p>

-

-<p>And the man set him down at the doctor's door. Early as was the hour,

-quite a number of people were waiting to see the doctor, so it was some

-time before Tad's turn came. But it came at last, and the baby was

-unwrapped and examined.</p>

-

-<p>"Monsieur the doctor," said Tad, "will you please tell me if the child

-will be all right directly, for I want to take him to England very

-soon."</p>

-

-<p>The doctor looked up incredulously.</p>

-

-<p>"To England?" he repeated. "No indeed, my boy, he must go no further

-than Granville Hospital. I tell you the little one is very ill; he has

-got inflammation of the lungs, and you may be very thankful if he pulls

-through at all!"</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_18">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>JEREMIAH TO THE RESCUE</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"THEN all that I've done is wuss than lost," said Tad to himself as

-he walked slowly away from the hospital where he had left his little

-brother. "I've run away on the sly and walked all night; I've carried

-off a sick child as can't be no good to me; I've broke with Phil and

-with the gipsies; and all for what? To stay here and starve in the

-streets while maybe the child dies in the hospital, and if he do die,

-why then good-bye to any home-goin' at all. Just my luck I can't seem

-to compass nothing at all, I can't."</p>

-

-<p>That night he slept under an old boat which was turned on its side

-awaiting repairs on the shore, above high-water mark. A more unhappy

-lad it would have been hard to find under God's great canopy of sky

-than Tad when he awoke next morning, cold, hungry, with a remorseful

-conscience and an anxious heart. After buying a small loaf of bread

-which was to last him all day, he walked down to the quay, which he had

-good cause to remember, for it was here he had first met Renard. But

-the thought of old Foxy was not uppermost in his mind as he sauntered

-round, looking idly about him at the varied shipping, and at the busy

-crowd loading and unloading the vessels. His wretched experiences

-with his late master seemed to him now something very remote, almost

-forgotten in the nearness of his more recent troubles.</p>

-

-<p>So much absorbed was Tad in his own miserable reflections, and the

-utter collapse of every plan he had made, that he started like one

-awakened out of sleep, when a long, claw-like hand grasped his arm,

-and a well-known, hateful voice said almost in his ear, "Ah, bon jour,

-mine dear cheeile! So I you have found at de last!" And a grin of evil

-triumph made even uglier and more repulsive than ever Renard's wicked

-face. Tad started as though from some noxious reptile. All the memories

-of his sufferings and those of Phil at the hands of this man rushed

-upon him with overwhelming force, and he gazed into Renard's green

-eyes, fascinated and speechless.</p>

-

-<p>"Ah, ma foi!" chuckled Foxy. "Only to tink! Dis dear boy is so please

-to see his old master, dat he find not word to speak."</p>

-

-<p>"It's a lie! I ain't pleased!" cried Tad, finding voice at last. "You

-know very well I'm nothin' of the kind. I hate you, that I do! Let me

-go!" And he tried to wrench his arm from old Foxy's clutch.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh fie! Fie! Wat naughty tempers have dis dear cheeile!" sighed Renard

-as he tightened his hold. "Come wid me, mine friend; you shall once

-again be educate in de college of Monsieur Renard. Widout doubt your

-jours de fête—wat you call holiday—find demselves too long. Now you

-weel work."</p>

-

-<p>And old Foxy began to drag his unwilling prisoner along, trying to get

-him away from the quay and into the town.</p>

-

-<p>Tad did what he could to free himself from the man's hold, but all to

-no purpose. As well might a fly try to win clear when a spider has hold

-of him.</p>

-

-<p>The people they met took no heed of him. It was nothing uncommon to see

-a struggle or even a fight going on here, and nobody interfered; so Tad

-was almost in despair, when suddenly he caught sight of something that

-gave him energy and courage.</p>

-

-<p>There, standing on the deck of a trim little vessel drawn close

-up to the quay, was a burly form surmounted by a bluff; honest,

-weather-beaten face and a shaggy mass of red hair and beard.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, Captain Jackson!" shrieked the lad. "Save me! Save me! Foxy's got

-me again!" And he stretched out his one free arm in passionate entreaty.</p>

-

-<p>The worthy Jeremiah leaped on shore and met Renard face to face.

-"What's up?" said he. "What's the matter?"</p>

-

-<p>"De matter, Monsieur Jeremie," replied Renard in honeyed tones, "is dat

-dis poor boy did run away from his kind master, and now he come back,

-and all weel be well again."</p>

-

-<p>"Never, never!" cried Tad. "Don't believe him, please, captain! He's

-the awfullest liar that ever was. Please, sir, look at me; don't you

-call to mind a boy you picked up in a open boat at sea, and how good

-you was to me? You wanted me to go back with you to England, and I'd

-near made up my mind to it, when old Foxy here come down with Phil

-Bates, and coaxed me into goin' along of him. And after that, me and my

-chum was starved and beaten and ill-treated, and at last, roust of all,

-we—"</p>

-

-<p>"Weel you be quaite, Edouard?" hissed Renard, giving the boy's arm a

-violent jerk. "If you hold not your peace," he added in a whisper, "I

-weel keel you."</p>

-

-<p>"I remember you very well, Teddie Poole," said Jeremiah. "So you don't

-want to return to the man's service, eh?"</p>

-

-<p>"No, sir, no indeed!" cried Tad. "Save me from him! Do save me,

-captain!"</p>

-

-<p>The bluff, good-humoured face looked very grave and stern as Jeremiah

-Jackson turned once more to Renard.</p>

-

-<p>"Unhand that lad, Renard!" he said.</p>

-

-<p>"Ma foi! And why, Monsieur Jeremie?" inquired Foxy. "You have not de

-right to say, 'Do dis and dat.'"</p>

-

-<p>"It's no use bullyin' and blusterin', you parley-vooin' scoundrel!"

-said Jackson stoutly. "Unhand that lad, or I'll tell the world here

-what I know. If once all Granville heard that you—"</p>

-

-<p>"Enough! Hush, oh hush, Monsieur Jeremie, mine good, dear friend!"

-whispered Renard, looking round furtively to see if Jackson's rather

-too plain speaking had been overheard. "It is one leetle joke; say

-notting more. I am only delight to do you oblige, and if you desire

-dat I let go dis cheeile, behold I cede heem widout unpleasant. Good

-morning, Edouard; bon jour to you too, Monsieur Jeremie."</p>

-

-<p>And loosening his hold on Tad, the Frenchman bowed low, cap in hand,

-and shuffled off towards the town.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_19">CHAPTER XIX</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>FAITHFUL PHIL</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>"COME you down into my cabin and tell me what's happened since you

-bolted from the 'Stormy Petrel' with that sneakin' rascal." And the

-honest sailor shook his huge fist at the retreating form of old Renard.</p>

-

-<p>Then Tad followed the skipper into the tiny cabin, and there over

-a good breakfast told his story; told it exactly as things had

-happened—the whole truth without reserve. It was a relief now to

-disburden his heavy heart of what was oppressing him so sorely, and to

-ask for the advice and help of which he stood so urgently in need.</p>

-

-<p>"You want to know what I think you'd best do?" asked Jeremiah as Tad

-finished his narrative.</p>

-

-<p>"Yes, sir, and whatever you says now, I promise to do it," replied poor

-Tad. "All along I've been tryin' to choose and to get what I liked

-best, and I've done nothin' but kick agen pricks, just as you said to

-me. You see, I haven't forgot, sir."</p>

-

-<p>"Well, Teddie Poole, things bein' as they are, and you in a pretty bad

-fix, my counsel to you is to send word by letter to the woman you call

-Marie that the kid is in hospital here, and also to write to your chum

-Phil as how you're sorry and all that, for what you done. And then—"</p>

-

-<p>"Please, is this boat the 'Stormy Petrel,' and is Captain Jeremiah

-Jackson here?" called a sweet boyish voice down the companion way.</p>

-

-<p>"Why, if that ain't Phil hisself!" cried Tad. "I'd know his voice in

-a thousand!" And jumping from his seat, he scrambled up on deck, and

-rushed straight into Phil's arms.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh Phil, dear Phil, is it really you? And can you ever forgive me—me

-that have been so bad?" whispered Tad brokenly.</p>

-

-<p>"Hush, dear old man; I know the temptation was a big one to you, and

-what you done's all forgiven—be sure of that."</p>

-

-<p>"But how did you find me?" inquired Tad.</p>

-

-<p>"Oh, I knowed what you'd always thought of doin'," answered Phil, "and

-so we come straight here to Granville in one of the house-waggons, and

-I ran down to the quay to see if I could find the 'Stormy Petrel,'

-feelin' sure you'd make for her if she was in port. But Tad," continued

-Phil, "where's baby Victor? Is he down in the cabin? Marie's here, half

-mad at losin' him."</p>

-

-<p>Tad's face fell.</p>

-

-<p>"He's very ill, Phil; he's had to be took to the hospital; his chest is

-awful bad, I'm afeared."</p>

-

-<p>At this Phil turned away from his friend, and stepped off the boat on

-to the quay to tell Marie this sad news, for she was standing there

-waiting to hear about the child. The tears welled up in her dark eyes

-as Phil spoke, but she said nothing, only glancing reproachfully

-towards Tad ere she turned and went into the town, bending her steps

-towards the hospital where the little one was lying.</p>

-

-<p>While Tad stood sadly watching her out of sight, he presently saw

-coming slowly along by the water side good old Mother Sophie. Leaping

-on shore, he ran to meet her.</p>

-

-<p>"Dear Mother Sophie," he cried, "I have been the most wicked, thankless

-boy that ever lived, to leave you as I did, after all your goodness.

-But I am sorry, and oh, I—"</p>

-

-<p>"If you are sorry for having made us so anxious, child, I pardon you.

-But tell me, Edouard, where is baby Victor?"</p>

-

-<p>"He is in the hospital, and his life is in danger I fear, dear mother."</p>

-

-<p>"My poor Marie!" sighed the old woman. "She loves Victor so well, and

-her heart would break were he to die. It will be hard enough anyway to

-part from him, even if he gets well."</p>

-

-<p>Tad turned in amazement to Phil, who had followed him as he went to

-meet Mother Sophie.</p>

-

-<p>"Part from him—if he gets well?" said he. "What does that mean, Phil?"</p>

-

-<p>"Only that I have told Marie, and Father Jacques, and Mother Sophie the

-whole story," replied Phil, "so now they all know the truth about you

-and baby. Marie didn't want to give up the child, if once she managed

-to get him back from you, but her parents wouldn't hear of her keepin'

-him, after what I'd told them, so if he gets better, you and he and

-Marie 'll go back to England together if you like."</p>

-

-<p>Tad was silent for a minute.</p>

-

-<p>"Then maybe if I'd told the whole truth to the good people at the

-beginning, as you begged me to, Phil," he said at last, "I might have

-got my way without runnin' off with the child at all, and p'raps he

-wouldn't have been so ill neither."</p>

-

-<p>Phil made no answer to this. What indeed could he say?</p>

-

-<p>But Tad went on, "I say, Phil, what a fool I've been for my pains!

-Captain Jackson was right about kickin' agen the pricks, for here I've

-took lots of trouble to go crooked, just to find myself wuss off than

-if I'd gone straight, to say nothin' of makin' no end of bother for

-others."</p>

-

-<p>"But now, Edouard," put in Mother Sophie, who understood no English,

-and had no idea what Tad was talking about, "now, Edouard, what do you

-intend to do? Will you return with your friend the captain this voyage,

-or—"</p>

-

-<p>"No, no, dear Mother Sophie," answered Tad, "I will not go until baby

-is better and can go too. You know I couldn't go home without him."</p>

-

-<p>"Here you, Teddie Poole!" called Jeremiah from the deck of his

-schooner. "I want to speak to you!"</p>

-

-<p>And Tad ran back quickly.</p>

-

-<p>"Will you go home with us in a few days' time, boy?" inquired the

-captain. "Or would you rather wait till I come again? I expect to be

-back here in about three weeks, if all be well, and I'll take you and

-your friends over then if you like. No, don't thank me, my lad!" he

-added, as Tad gratefully accepted his second offer. "No need for more

-words about it. It's only my dooty as a man and a Christian, and it's a

-pleasure into the bargain. And, praise the Lord, the boat's my own, and

-I've no one's leave to ask."</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<h3><a id="Chapter_20">CHAPTER XX</a></h3>

-

-<p class="t3">

-<b>THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER</b><br>

-</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>THE days passed, and Marie returned from her daily visits to the

-hospital, bringing no better reports.</p>

-

-<p>"But for that long night of exposure to the cold, damp air, baby Victor

-would never have been so ill," she had said reproachfully to Tad; "and

-now, through you and your headstrong folly, this precious little life

-will most likely be lost. You do not deserve to have a brother."</p>

-

-<p>Tad did not resent Marie's hard words. He knew he merited them richly,

-and he did not attempt to excuse or defend himself. Truly repentant and

-humble as he had become, he could not undo the grievous consequences of

-his sin. So he meekly listened to the woman's reproaches, which he felt

-came from a very sore heart, and were none the less sharp and bitter

-for that.</p>

-

-<p>At last there came a time when the doctors said that the little one's

-life hung, as it were, on a thread, and there was hardly a chance that

-he could recover. And when poor Marie brought back this news, Tad felt

-that now his cup of misery and of punishment was full indeed.</p>

-

-<p>If the child died, he would feel, all his life long, like a murderer,

-and go through the world as with the brand of Cain upon his brow.</p>

-

-<p>Towards evening of that day, Phil found him sitting in an

-out-of-the-way corner, quite overwhelmed with trouble.</p>

-

-<p>"I can't bear it, Phil!" he sobbed. "For baby to be took and me left is

-too dreadful; me, too, that nobody cares for and nobody wants!"</p>

-

-<p>For all answer Phil nestled close to his friend, and passed a loving

-arm round his neck. He felt that such trouble as this could not be

-comforted by mere words, but he also felt that for every burdened heart

-comfort might be found where he—Phil—had often found it before during

-his sad young life.</p>

-

-<p>The place where the lads were sitting was quiet and solitary enough,

-and the darkness was fast stealing on, softly shadowing earth and sky.</p>

-

-<p>By his friend's side Phil knelt, still with an arm round Tad's neck,

-and then the boy's tender sympathy and loving pity found a voice in

-fervent prayer to Him Who on earth healed the sick with a word or a

-touch, and raised the dead, and forgave the sins of those who had gone

-astray.</p>

-

-<p>For the little life now trembling in the balance, Phil wrestled with

-cries and tears. For forgiveness for the past, for help in time to

-come, for strength to do the right whatever might happen—the childish

-voice, broken by sobs, rose in passionate supplication, thrilling

-Tad's heart through and through with the consciousness of some unseen

-Presence, and bringing back to his memory words long forgotten,

-"'Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not.'"</p>

-

-<p>With hands close clasped, and streaming eyes lifted towards the sky,

-the awe-struck lad gazed and gazed, half fearing to see, half expecting

-some visible sign to appear in the dark heavens above him, in answer to

-that urgent cry for help.</p>

-

-<p>Once more the sweet, plaintive voice broke, sending forth sobbingly the

-words, so touching in their simplicity,—</p>

-

-<p class="letter">

-<br>

-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Dear Lord, Thou knows all we want to say and can't. Do it for us; Thou

-can, and Thou art willin', that we know, cos Thou said so. Send us a

-answer of peace, for Thy own sake, Amen."<br>

-<br>

-</p>

-

-<p>Then there was silence; both boys felt that the place whereon they

-knelt was holy ground, and neither could bear to break the solemn hush.

-Hand in hand, and nearer in heart than they had ever been before, the

-lads went back to the cart.</p>

-

-<p>The matron of the children's ward in the hospital at Granville, seeing

-Marie's great anxiety, had allowed her to have access to the child

-whenever she liked. And when the boys returned to the house-waggon,

-they found that she had not yet got back from her evening visit.</p>

-

-<p>In almost unbearable suspense they sat there on the short turf, waiting

-for the news which they so dreaded and yet longed for. Not a word had

-been spoken between them as yet. Tad was seated leaning eagerly forward

-to catch the first glimpse of Marie on her way home. Phil lay at full

-length, as though exhausted, his pale face upturned, his eyes closed.

-Suddenly he sat up, his eyes radiant in the moonlight, a smile upon his

-lips.</p>

-

-<p>"He heard us, Tad! He heard us!" whispered the boy. "It's all right!

-Hark! There she comes!"</p>

-

-<p>Tad listened, and heard a light, quick step speeding along, joyful

-relief in every footfall. II was Marie returning. Both lads sprang to

-their feet, and ran to meet her.</p>

-

-<p>"All is well, thank God!" cried the woman as she saw them. "The doctors

-say he will live."</p>

-

-<p>And she passed on to the van to awaken her mother with the joyful

-tidings, while the boys, left together, crept away, and from glad

-hearts sent up to heaven the voice of praise and thanksgiving.</p>

-

-<p>With the young, recovery is often a very rapid thing, and that of

-Marie's adopted child was no exception to this rule.</p>

-

-<p>By the time the "Stormy Petrel" returned to Granville, the little one

-was well enough to be out for hours in the warm, bright sun, and to

-bear the voyage home.</p>

-

-<p>Jacques and Sophie would have been glad to keep Phil with them always,

-for he had greatly endeared himself to them by his unselfishness and

-gentle ways. But Tad and he could not bear to be parted, and Jeremiah

-Jackson had held out a hope to the boys that he might give them both

-a berth on board of his vessel, if they found, on their return to

-England, that they could find nothing better to do.</p>

-

-<p>So one lovely afternoon, in full spring, Marie and the baby, Tad, and

-Phil, took leave of the kind gipsies, and going on board the trim

-little schooner, glided out into the crimson sunset, with a fair wind

-and all sail set.</p>

-

-<p>Marie's husband had gone back to England two weeks before, being unable

-to wait till the baby was well enough to travel. A letter had been

-written to James Poole, and sent to the address of Tad's former home,

-whence it had been forwarded to the new house, near Southampton, to

-which the Pooles had recently moved. To this letter Tad's father had

-sent a kind reply, promising to meet the voyagers on arrival.</p>

-

-<p>Marie had at first intended herself to take the baby to his home,

-accompanying Tad thither. But on learning that James Poole was to

-meet his children, and remembering, too, that in stealing the baby on

-that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday evening, all those months ago, she

-had exposed herself to a serious risk, and indeed to the certainty of

-punishment by English law, she thought she had better not show herself

-at all to the child's father, but find her way to her husband's people

-as quickly as possible.</p>

-

-<p>Of the parting between Marie and her adopted child we need not

-say much, but sad as it was, she went through it with courage and

-determination.</p>

-

-<p>James Poole, as was expected, met the voyagers at Southampton, and Tad

-was surprised to see how much softened and how gentle his father's face

-and manner had become. When Tad introduced Phil, James Poole greeted

-the boy very kindly, and cordially invited him home.</p>

-

-<p>The Pooles had a nice roomy cottage just out of town, and on the way

-there, Tad's father told him that Mrs. Poole had been a great invalid

-for four months and more, and quite unable to do any work about the

-house, so that life had been very hard for all. He said that Nell and

-Bert were well, and good children on the whole, but running rather

-wild for want of looking after, and that Mr. Scales the grocer, Tad's

-former employer, had quite recently written to inquire after his late

-shop-boy, saying that since Tad left, he had been unable to find a lad

-to suit him.</p>

-

-<p>On reaching home, it was a sad sight to see Mrs. Poole lying on a couch

-quite helpless, dependent upon an old woman who came every morning to

-do the work of the house. But on seeing her baby boy and receiving him

-into her arms again, the poor mother was so full of joy and content and

-thankfulness, that the look of suffering passed from her face, and Tad

-thought he should not be surprised if she got well after all.</p>

-

-<p>In the general rejoicing, no one thought of scolding or blaming the

-runaway lad, and all listened eagerly while he told his adventures.</p>

-

-<p>Phil too was made much of, and when, in relating his story, Tad told

-also not sparing nor excusing himself—how Phil had been his good angel,

-his loving, faithful friend, ever since they had first met, there

-was not a dry eye in all that little company. And James Poole wrung

-the little slender hand in his strong palm, Nell and Bert hugged him

-round the neck, and Mrs. Poole patted his head and called him a dear

-good lad, till he felt quite shy, for he had never been used to much

-kindness or attention.</p>

-

-<p>Presently, when the little ones had gone to bed, Mrs. Poole asked Tad

-to come and sit down by her, and when he did so, she said:</p>

-

-<p>"Tad, dear, God has taught me a many lessons since you left home all

-them months ago. First there was losin' my baby, and afterwards this

-illness that came of a fall. But Tad, it wasn't until I began to miss

-my little one, that I called to mind how you and Nell and Bert had

-never ceased to miss your mother, and how I never so much as tried to

-fill her place. And it wasn't till I was laid aside, and needed to have

-people tender and patient with me, that I remembered I'd never been

-tender and patient with the poor chil'en I was stepmother to. But now,

-dear boy, you've come home again, and me and your father we'll both try

-and make it real home to you, so as it shan't never no more come into

-your head and heart to run away. Kiss me, Tad, and call me mother, for

-that's what—God helpin' me—I mean to be to you always."</p>

-

-<p><br></p>

-

-<p>And now we can say good-bye to Tad the kidnapper, feeling quite sure

-that never again will he deserve this name.</p>

-

-<p>How he went back to his duties at the grocer's shop, living in Mr.

-Scales' house all the week, and returning home for Sunday; how he

-gradually rose in his employer's confidence to a position of trust and

-of usefulness; how Phil, after a short sojourn with the Pooles, began

-to pine for something to do, and accepted Jeremiah Jackson's offer of

-a berth as cabin boy aboard the "Stormy Petrel"; how Marie, by special

-invitation, came every now and then to see baby Victor, (as she still

-called him); and how God sent her at last a little baby boy of her very

-own to comfort her heart; all this we need only just mention, for our

-story has been told to show that the getting of our own way does not

-always mean happiness or prosperity.</p>

-

-<p>And since poor Tad Poole had learned this lesson, perhaps we who have

-followed him step by step in his adventurous career have learned it too.</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<p>Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON &amp; CO., Edinburgh</p>

-

-<p><br><br><br></p>

-

-<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74793 ***</div>

-</body>

-</html>

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+      What Happened to Tad, by Mary E. Ropes │ Project Gutenberg
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+</head>
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74793 ***</div>
+
+<p>Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image001" style="max-width: 33.8125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image001.jpg" alt="image001">
+</figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image002" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image002.jpg" alt="image002">
+</figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>"BOAT AHOY! WAKE UP THERE!"</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h1>WHAT HAPPENED<br>
+<br>
+TO TAD</h1>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+BY<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t1">
+MARY E. ROPES<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+<em>Author of "Karl Jansen's Find," "Caroline Street,"<br>
+"Two Brave Boys," etc., etc.</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+LONDON<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+4 Bouverie Street and 65 St. Paul's Churchyard E.C.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3b">
+CONTENTS<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>CHAPTER</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_1">I. VERY HARD LINES</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_2">II. PLANNING REVENGE</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_3">III. GONE</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_4">IV. ANOTHER STEP DOWN</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_5">V. DRIVEN FORTH</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_6">VI. AFLOAT</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_7">VII. JEREMIAH JACKSON</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_8">VIII. FOXY AND PHIL</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_9">IX. A SLAVE INDEED</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_10">X. WEAK YET SO STRONG</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_11">XI. GOOD-BYE TO FOXY</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_12">XII. A FRIEND AND AN ENEMY</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_13">XIII. UNEXPECTED NEWS</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_14">XIV. OLD MEMORIES AND A NEW IDEA</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_15">XV. TURNING THE TABLES</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_16">XVI. TAD HARDENS HIS HEART</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_17">XVII. AGAINST THE PRICKS</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_18">XVIII. JEREMIAH TO THE RESCUE</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_19">XIX. FAITHFUL PHIL</a></p>
+
+<p><a href="#Chapter_20">XX. THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER</a></p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t2">
+<b>WHAT HAPPENED TO TAD</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_1">CHAPTER I</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>VERY HARD LINES</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"NOW look here, boy! I ain't a-goin' to have no more words about it.
+Your mother must—"</p>
+
+<p>"She ain't my mother, nor I'll never call her so, never! Not if I live
+a hundred year; so don't try to make me, dad."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I dare say it won't matter such a great deal to your stepmother
+what you call her, so long as you do what you're told, Tad. But please
+to understand, my lad, that if you kick up a rumpus here, and make
+things unpleasant for my wife, you'll hear of it again from me, as sure
+as my name's James Poole."</p>
+
+<p>"But, dad," pursued the boy, "she ain't kind to the children, leastways
+only to her own kid. She beats poor little Bert, and boxes Nell's ears
+for the least thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Tiresome spoilt brats! Serve 'em right!" retorted the man. "But
+anyhow, Tad, it ain't your business. You may as well understand, once
+for all, that I mean she shall be missis here, and manage the home
+her own way. Now go along, will you! I've no more time to waste on
+tale-tellin' and grumblin'."</p>
+
+<p>"It's wicked! It's a shame!" muttered Teddie Poole (or Tadpole as his
+friends had nicknamed him). "This has got to end somehow!"</p>
+
+<p>But his father only growled under his breath, caught up his cap, and
+left the house.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it's too bad; everything's against me and them two poor chil'en.
+Dad's number two—she don't care for 'em one little bit, though nothin's
+too good for that great, thumpin', squealin' baby of hers. I'd take
+Bert and Nell right off somewheres, only I couldn't keep 'em and look
+after 'em—poor mites!"</p>
+
+<p>Then with a heavy heart, Tad betook himself to his work. It was not
+much of a place that the boy had got. He was only a grocer's lad at
+four shillings a week, but it was better than nothing, and he did his
+work willingly enough, though he was often footsore and weary with
+running or standing about from morning till night.</p>
+
+<p>There was a great deal of good in poor Tad. When his own mother died,
+he tried to take care of his little brother and sister, and often
+denied himself for their sake.</p>
+
+<p>But when at last James Poole married again, the boy bitterly resented
+his stepmother's harsh ways with her husband's children. And since her
+own baby's birth, things at home had been worse than ever. She grudged
+to Bert and Nell every moment of time that she was obliged to give
+them, and even the very food they ate. She had no sympathy for their
+childish troubles, no tender words or caresses for anyone but her own
+baby boy; while towards Tad, who had from the first made no secret of
+his feelings, she showed in return a dislike which had something almost
+malignant about it.</p>
+
+<p>Several times the lad had complained to his father, but his words had
+produced no effect except still more to enrage his stepmother against
+him. And now Tad had made another appeal, and had once again failed.</p>
+
+<p>All day long, he turned the matter over in his mind as he ran his
+errands or helped his master, Mr. Scales, to make up parcels in the
+shop. Life at home was becoming unbearable—impossible—he told himself.
+What was to be done?</p>
+
+<p>Once the grocer glanced at him with a comical, puzzled smile on his
+fat, good-natured face, but Tad never looked up, and presently his
+master said:</p>
+
+<p>"Before you put them little packets up in brown paper, Teddie, just see
+if they are all right, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>The lad obeyed, but as he began to look through his packets of grocery,
+he flushed hotly.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't think how I could have been so stupid, sir," he said
+penitently; "why, here's sugar and salt got mixed somehow, and the
+bacon rashers has gone and wrapped theirselves up with the yaller
+soap. Oh my! And a pound of taller dips is broke loose all among the
+currants, till they looks just like the hats of them 'ketch-'em-alive'
+fellers. Oh, sir, I'm awful sorry."</p>
+
+<p>The round face of Mr. Scales expanded into a grin of genuine amusement.</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't often you make such mistakes, my boy," he said kindly, "so
+I must forgive you this time. But it seems to me, Tad, that you've
+something on your mind."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, that's just it," answered Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it anything I can help you in?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, thank you, no one can't help me," replied the boy gloomily.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah well, you think so now, but perhaps things will mend in a day or
+two, and then you'll feel more hopeful."</p>
+
+<p>Tad shook his head, but did not reply. He tried, however, to put his
+troubles out of his mind for the present, and to give his undivided
+attention to his work, so as to make no more mistakes. He did not
+reach home that evening until eight, and his father and stepmother
+were sitting at table. Bert, half undressed, was sobbing in a corner,
+his face to the wall, and little Nell was wailing in her cot upstairs,
+having been put to bed supperless for some childish offence.</p>
+
+<p>"Late again, Tad!" exclaimed Mrs. Poole crossly. "Why can't you be home
+in good time?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Scales kept me a bit later than common," replied Tad; "we was very
+busy."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe that's anything but a excuse," retorted the woman.
+"It's a deal more likely as how you've been playin' round with them
+rude street boys that you learns your pretty manners from."</p>
+
+<p>Tad flushed scarlet with rage.</p>
+
+<p>"I came straight home," said he; "I ran all the way to try and get back
+quick. I don't tell lies, and I think you ought to believe me."</p>
+
+<p>"Hark at that, now! Jim, just do hark at that! Ought to, forsooth!
+Ain't there any other thing, if you please, that I ought to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," shouted Tad, beside himself with passion—"lots of 'em!"</p>
+
+<p>"Shut up, will you?" roared James Poole, bringing his heavy fist down
+upon the table. "Am I never to have a minute's peace at home?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Tain't my fault, dad," said the boy; "I ain't gone and done nothin'."</p>
+
+<p>"No, everybody knows you never do nothin'," sneered his stepmother.
+"You're just one of they poor critturs that's put upon all the time by
+other folks, when you're as innercent as a angel."</p>
+
+<p>Tad got up and pushed his plate away without having touched a mouthful.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't eat, dad," he said to his father, "a bite or a sup would choke
+me."</p>
+
+<p>James Poole made no reply, but his wife laughed and said:</p>
+
+<p>"So much the better! All the more left for us!"</p>
+
+<p>"Bein' Saturday," said Tad, coming round to his father's side, "Mr.
+Scales paid me as usual. Here's the money for you, dad!" and he put
+down four shillings on the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Give it to your mother, Tad, she does the providin'."</p>
+
+<p>But Tad did not obey.</p>
+
+<p>"Give that there money to me, do you hear?" cried Mrs. Poole.</p>
+
+<p>But Tad appeared to take no notice of her.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you have the tin, father?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"No, my boy; I know I've took your wages till now, but I find your
+mother—your stepmother—likes to have it herself, and it's all the same
+to me."</p>
+
+<p>Tad did not even glance at Mrs. Poole, but deliberately gathered up the
+coins and pocketed them, saying:</p>
+
+<p>"Then, since you don't want my earnin's, dad, I'll keep 'em, for from
+to-day I'm a-goin' to feed myself."</p>
+
+<p>And not waiting to hear any more, he went upstairs to his little garret
+room, and bolted himself in to brood over his wrongs, and think out
+some way of escape from the influences of a home that had grown so
+hateful.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_2">CHAPTER II</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>PLANNING REVENGE</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>NO sleep did Tad get that night, tired though he was. He was thinking
+so hard that he could not close his eyes. Things had come to a climax
+at last, and something must be done. His stepmother and he hated each
+other cordially, and his efforts to stand up for the children only made
+matters worse both for himself and them.</p>
+
+<p>There were only two courses open to Tad now, and to one of these he
+must commit himself on the following day. Either he must eat humble
+pie, submit his will entirely to his stepmother, and have no choice
+of his own in anything, or he must go quite away, away as far as he
+could—and try to shift for himself.</p>
+
+<p>The thought of remaining at home, to be sneered at, and scolded, and
+abused by Mrs. Poole, was intolerable. The idea of submitting to her,
+and thus acknowledging her authority, he put from him as altogether too
+bitter a pill to be swallowed. There remained, then, only the other
+alternative, and that was to cut adrift from all his belongings, and go
+away.</p>
+
+<p>The thing that troubled him most about this plan, next to leaving
+little Bert and Nell, was that he knew it would be nothing but a
+delight to Mrs. Poole to get rid of him, and he could not bear to give
+her pleasure even by carrying out this plan of his own.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like oncommon to punish her—punish her well!" said the boy to
+himself, as he tossed uneasily on his bed and stared before him into
+the darkness. "I'd like to make her real unhappy as she's always makin'
+us. Go away I'm bound to, but I must do something beside as 'll make
+her laugh t'other side of her mouth."</p>
+
+<p>For some moments Tad thought intently. At last, with a sudden bound, he
+found himself, in his excitement, standing in the middle of the floor.</p>
+
+<p>"I have it!" he chuckled. "I know what I'm a-goin' to do! That's
+fine!"</p>
+
+<p>And again he laughed to himself—a hard laugh that told a sad tale of
+its own, and showed what a terrible power, even over the soft young heart
+of early youth, have the stony influences of injustice and cruelty.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>With the first dawn of Sunday morning, Tad rose and dressed himself
+noiselessly. Into an old satchel-basket, that his master had given
+him, he packed his clothes and his one spare pair of boots. His brush
+and comb, and a very few other little matters, were added, and then he
+covered all neatly with a sheet of newspaper, after which he put the
+basket away in the cupboard till he should want it.</p>
+
+<p>Tad knew his stepmother's Sunday habits and customs, and quite hoped
+that he should presently have a chance to carry out the plans for
+his own escape and for the accomplishing of the revenge which he had
+promised himself.</p>
+
+<p>The boy had eaten no supper, and had passed a sleepless night, and he
+began to feel sick and faint by the time his little preparations were
+completed, so that he was glad to lie down again.</p>
+
+<p>About seven o'clock he heard his father's voice calling him, and he
+jumped up and ran out of his room.</p>
+
+<p>"Come and dress the children, Tad," said James Poole; "your stepmother
+have got a headache, and means to stay quiet till near dinner time."</p>
+
+<p>Tad smiled, well pleased. He knew that this was the usual Sunday
+headache, which needed a long sleep and a plentiful dinner for its
+cure, and he had reckoned upon it as a most important part of his
+plans. He dressed Bert and Nell, and then the baby. But this last was
+not an easy thing to do, for the child wriggled and squirmed like an
+eel.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile James Poole lighted the fire and got breakfast ready, and
+presently all sat down but Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"Come and have your breakfast, lad," said his father.</p>
+
+<p>"No thank you, dad," replied the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"And why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"You heard what she said to me last night, dad, didn't you? After that
+and what I answered her, I ain't goin' to eat nothin' more of her
+providin'."</p>
+
+<p>And Tad's face burned at the remembrance of the insulting words that
+had brought him to this resolution. His heart was hot within him as
+with a smouldering fire, while he said to himself, "Ah well—my turn's
+comin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be such a fool, Tad," said his father; "here, take your tea, and
+I'll cut you some bread and butter."</p>
+
+<p>Tad was just longing for some food. He had not eaten a mouthful since
+an early tea in Mr. Scales' little back parlour the day before. But
+it was not for nothing that Mrs. Poole had often called him "the most
+obstinatious little beast of a boy" she'd ever seen. And since he had
+made up his mind not to eat again at his father's table, he stuck to
+his resolution, rash and foolish as it was.</p>
+
+<p>"No, dad, no," he said. "I'll make shift to get a bite somewheres or
+other later on, but I ain't goin' to unsay what I said last night—not
+for no one."</p>
+
+<p>"You forget it's Sunday, lad, you can't buy any food," said James
+Poole; "and besides, though you may be able to starve for a day, you
+can't keep on doin' of it, so that sooner or later you're bound to
+break your resolution. Now don't be an obstinate mule, but eat your
+breakfast, or you'll be makin' yourself ill."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care," said Tad, feeling very wretched in mind and body.</p>
+
+<p>Not to be shaken in his purpose, he set the baby on his father's knee,
+and went to his room.</p>
+
+<p>There, seeing his overcoat hanging up on a nail on the door, he
+recalled to mind that, two days before, his master had given him some
+broken biscuits that had remained behind after the whole ones were
+sold. He had put them into the pocket of his light overcoat, just as he
+was leaving the shop, and had not once thought of them till now. Very
+thankful to be able to appease his ravenous hunger, the lad sat down
+and ate up the biscuits to the very last crumb, washing down the dry,
+stale morsels with a drink of water from his jug.</p>
+
+<p>Then feeling much better for his meal, he went downstairs again,
+cleared the breakfast table, and washed the crockery and spoons,
+afterwards making up the fire and tidying the kitchen, all of this
+being his accustomed Sunday work.</p>
+
+<p>When all was in order, he dressed Bert and Nell for morning Sunday
+School, and took them there, returning home quickly, for he knew he
+should be called upon to mind the baby, and take him out; and this—for
+reasons of his own—he did not mind doing to-day.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later, while James Poole sat reading his paper and smoking
+a pipe in the chimney corner, and while great, fat, lazy Mrs. Poole
+turned in bed and commenced another nap to the accompaniment of some
+terrific snores, Tadpole slipped away with the baby in his arms, and
+the basket strapped to his waist.</p>
+
+<p>He did not care to say good-bye to his father; had not James Poole
+taken his wife's part when she was cruel and unjust? As for Bert and
+Nell, Tad had given each of them a tearful embrace as he left them at
+the school door—a long, loving kiss that would have set them wondering
+and asking questions, had they been just a little older. But as it was,
+they did not notice the difference in their brother's manner.</p>
+
+<p>"Now comes my revenge!" muttered the lad. "My one bit of pleasure in
+all this bad business. Oh, Mrs. P., you shall have a few jolly hours
+to-day, if I can manage it for you."</p>
+
+<p>And with a vindictive light in his eyes, Tad walked away, on and on,
+till he left the town behind him, and came out into a country road
+between hedges, with a meadow on one side, and a copse and plantation
+on the other. Finding at last a gate to the meadow, he climbed over it,
+nearly dropping the child in his scramble. Once over, he went further
+into the field to be out of sight of anyone passing on the road, for he
+had no wish, just as his little plan promised success, to be taken up
+as a trespasser.</p>
+
+<p>For some time he walked about with the child, till at last the little
+fellow fell asleep. Then Tad laid him in a soft, sheltered place under
+a tree, and spread a shawl, kept up by the handle of the basket, to
+keep off the wind and the sun. Then he stood looking at the baby with a
+malicious grin on his lips.</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right so far," said he to himself. "When dinner time comes,
+and no me nor no baby turns up, Mrs. P. will begin to have the lovely
+time I've been wishin' her; and when I think she's had about enough of
+it, I'll carry baby back, and leave him on the doorstep, or somewheres
+handy, and then off I goes on my travels, like a prince in one of them
+fairy tales."</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_3">CHAPTER III</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>GONE</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THE baby awoke after awhile, and cried a little, but Tad was too good
+and experienced a nurse not to have anticipated and arranged for what
+the child would want. He quickly produced from the basket the little
+one's feeding-bottle and some milk, and very soon the baby, quite
+satisfied and happy, was creeping about on the grass and playing with
+some flowers that Tad found for him. And when he wearied of this, the
+boy rocked him to sleep again in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>Then, wearied by his own sleepless night, he lay down beside the
+child for a much-needed nap. His last feeling, before dropping into
+dreamland, being one of grim rejoicing in the recollection that his
+stepmother must already be in a "fine taking,"—as he would have
+expressed it,—about her baby. Tad had made up his mind not to carry
+the child back until dark, "for fear," he said to himself, "of being
+nabbed." But already it was afternoon, and in these autumn days the
+darkness came early.</p>
+
+<p>When Tad awoke from a sound sleep of several hours, the twilight was
+creeping over earth and sky. The quiet rest had much refreshed him, and
+baby too had waked up in a happy mood, and looked so much less like his
+mother than usual, that Tad felt fonder of the poor little fellow than
+ever before, and even kissed his little round face when he picked him
+up.</p>
+
+<p>Carrying the basket on his arm, and the baby over his shoulder, Tad
+walked across the meadow, and came to a stile leading out on to a
+common, where was a gipsy encampment.</p>
+
+<p>A couple of carts were drawn up near the hedge on one side of the
+field, four or five stiff-legged, scraggy horses were grazing hungrily
+on the short, stubbly grass, while not far from a fire, which blazed
+merrily under a black pot, sat a little company of brown-skinned,
+rough-looking men and women, and a few children played about around
+them.</p>
+
+<p>It helped to pass the time, watching the gipsies, so Tad, with the baby
+in his arms, got over the stile, and drawing nearer to the picturesque
+group, stood looking at the people, and hungrily sniffing the savoury
+steam that rose from the cooking-pot.</p>
+
+<p>Presently a young woman rose from among the little company, and came
+towards Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"You look hungry, lad; have a bite with us," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Tad gladly consented, and as the air was growing chill, he joined the
+group of gipsies as they gathered closer round the fire. The young
+woman took the baby from him, and fondled and rocked it while Tad ate
+his supper.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tain't long since she lost her own child," said one of the men to
+Tad, "and this little un ain't onlike him."</p>
+
+<p>When the lad had finished his meal, he thought he had perhaps better
+set off on a little spying expedition, to see if the coast was clear
+for him to take the baby home; for he did not wish to be met by any
+search parties coming to look for him and his little charge.</p>
+
+<p>But to do his spying safely; he ought to leave the child here; and
+turning to the young woman, who was walking to and fro with the baby,
+crooning to it, and putting it to sleep in the usual motherly fashion,
+he said:</p>
+
+<p>"I've got a errand to run, missis, and maybe it'll take me a hour or
+more. Would you have the goodness just to mind the little un for me
+till I can come back for him? I'll be as quick as I can."</p>
+
+<p>"It'll be all right," replied the woman, with an eager light in her
+dark eyes. "I'll see to the baby. You needn't hurry, neither. He's
+goin' off to sleep again, and there's no fear but what he'll be quite
+quiet and content."</p>
+
+<p>Thanking her warmly, away went the Tadpole, carrying his big head high,
+and putting all possible speed into his slender body and thin legs.
+He spent over an hour in dodging about and looking here and there for
+possible pursuers. But he met no search parties, and feeling now more
+sure than ever of being able to carry out his plan to the very end, he
+came leisurely back to the common where he had left the gipsy camp.</p>
+
+<p>It was quite dark now; he could just see the dull glow of the fire's
+dying embers, but nothing else. As he came nearer, however, what were
+his surprise and dismay to find that the place was deserted. Gone
+were the carts, the horses, the people, and worst of all, gone too
+was the baby. It was as if the whole encampment had melted into thin
+air—vanished as utterly as the scenes of a dream.</p>
+
+<p>"They must have crossed the common and come out into a road beyond,"
+thought Tad.</p>
+
+<p>And hoping to overtake them and get back the child, he started at a
+quick run, often stumbling in the darkness, and once or twice falling
+outright. After going some distance, he reached a place where four
+roads met, leading off in various directions. Meanwhile the darkness
+had deepened, no moon or stars lightened the gloom, and Tad began to
+realise the hopelessness of trying to follow the gipsies, who, no
+doubt, had employed their usual cunning to elude pursuit. Utterly
+baffled and at fault in his search, and well-nigh stunned by the
+misfortune that had come upon him, the lad stood still at the cross
+roads, and tried to collect his thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>His intention had been only to give his stepmother a thorough fright,
+by way of paying her out for some of the unkindness he and Bertie and
+Nell had received from her. But now the matter had been taken out of
+his hands, and it looked very much as if, not only Mrs. Poole, but he
+himself and the baby too, were likely to suffer from this revenge that
+he had so carefully planned.</p>
+
+<p>"What a mess I've got into, to be sure!" sighed Tad as he peered round
+with weary eyes, vainly searching the thick darkness. "Whatever shall I
+do?"</p>
+
+<p>His first impulse was to run home, confess the whole story to his
+father, and let him do what was best for the recovery of the baby.
+Tad's conscience told him that this clearly would be the right thing
+to do. But then, if he acted thus, it meant that he must face his
+stepmother's fury, and give up, for the present, at least, his plan of
+leaving home. He felt sure that Mrs. Poole would never believe that he
+had not deliberately and wilfully deserted the baby. He was certain she
+would never give him credit for his intention to bring her child safely
+back when the purposes of his boyish vengeance had been fulfilled.</p>
+
+<p>No—he did not feel he could muster courage enough to return home to
+such a greeting as hers would be, and yielding to the whispers of his
+cowardice, he determined to set out on his travels at once, without
+seeing any of his home people again, and leaving the baby to take its
+chance. Still, since his conscience gave him some sharp pricks as to
+the fate of the child entrusted to his care, he resolved that on the
+following day, he would send by post, from the first town or village
+through which he passed, a letter to his father, telling him just how
+it had happened that the little one was carried off by the gipsies who
+had been encamped on the common outside the town. This resolve arrived
+at, Tad felt a little comforted, and set out to walk to a place some
+six miles distant, where he intended to pass the night.</p>
+
+<p>In thus running away, he was conscious of only two causes of regret.
+One was his separation from Bert and Nell, and the other that he was
+obliged to give up his situation. He had feared to let Mr. Scales know
+he was leaving home, lest he should be stopped. So now he could not
+help thinking of the little ones crying because he did not come home to
+put them to bed as usual; and also of what his kind master would say
+when Monday morning came, but with it no boy to take the shutters down,
+and sweep out the shop, and get everything ready for the business of
+the day.</p>
+
+<p>"Still—all said and done—at least I'm free!" said Tad to himself. "I've
+shook off that horrid stepmother of mine, and it shan't be my fault if
+I ever see her again."</p>
+
+<p>So saying the lad drew himself up, and strode at a great pace along the
+dark road, and tried hard to believe that he had never been so happy in
+all his life.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_4">CHAPTER IV</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>ANOTHER STEP DOWN</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>IT was late that night before Tad reached the village of Pine Hill and
+approached the little, homely, old-fashioned inn which went by the name
+of "The Traveller's Rest," this being the sign of the first inn ever
+built in the place, hundreds of years before.</p>
+
+<p>The house was kept by a very respectable man, called Anthony Robson,
+and Tad had often heard his father speak of Tony Rob (as he called him)
+in high terms as a thoroughly good fellow.</p>
+
+<p>"Please can I have a bit of supper and a corner to lie down in?" asked
+Tad, timidly addressing the landlord, whose burly form was resting in a
+big armchair in the chimney corner.</p>
+
+<p>Apparently he was having a little rest and a last pipe before locking
+up his house for the night and going to bed.</p>
+
+<p>Tony Robson stared at the lad for what seemed to Tad an age before he
+replied. Then as he saw him cringe a little before the questioning gaze
+fixed upon him, he said:</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't you rather a whipper-snapper to be goin' journeyin' by yourself
+at this time of night, and Sunday too? What's your name?"</p>
+
+<p>Tad hesitated, with downcast eyes. If he gave his real name, the
+landlord might prevent his going any further; for he knew James Poole,
+and would guess that the boy was going away from his home without leave.</p>
+
+<p>"No," thought Tad, "I must give another name."</p>
+
+<p>Then as Tony, with his face growing a little stern and suspicious,
+again asked the question, the boy replied with the first name he
+could think of—Hal Barnes—this being the name of one of his former
+school-fellows who was now a farmer's boy living some miles from
+Ponderton.</p>
+
+<p>"And where may you be goin', Hal Barnes?" asked Tony.</p>
+
+<p>The second lie is always easier than the first, and to this question
+Tad replied glibly enough:</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a-goin' to Crest Mount, sir; goin' after a page's place up at
+the squire's. I'm to see him at ten sharp to-morrow mornin', and I
+couldn't do this unless I slept here to-night, for I comes from beyond
+Ponderton. Else I don't care for takin the road Sunday, and wouldn't
+have done it, if I could anyways manage different."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" said Tad to himself. "How nat'ral and easy all that pretty
+little tale sounded!"</p>
+
+<p>The landlord seemed to think so too, for his face lost its stern
+expression, and he said:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's it, is it? But Crest Mount is a goodish way, even from
+here; a matter of five mile or so."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't mind a walk, sir," said Tad, "and I shall be rested by
+to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"Well now," said Tony Robson, "I take it you don't want nothin' very
+expensive in the way of supper and bed, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, I haven't got much money, and I can't afford anything but the
+cheapest."</p>
+
+<p>"It's too late to cook you anything, and the wife's gone to bed, but
+you can have a slice of ham and a cut of the home-made loaf, and a pint
+mug of milk. Will that do for supper?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh dear yes, sir, thank you," replied Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"And as for a bed, what do you say to a good shakedown of clean hay in
+the loft? It's sweet and wholesome, and you won't have to pay nothin'
+for it, so that'll leave you able to afford a bit of breakfast in the
+mornin'. My dame shall give you a good bowl of oatmeal and milk afore
+you start off for Crest Mount."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you kindly, sir; I'm much obliged," said Tad.</p>
+
+<p>And glad to get out of answering any more questions, and of being
+forced to draw upon his imagination for his facts, he ate his supper
+and then thankfully went to bed in the loft among the scented hay,
+where, being very weary, he fell asleep at once, only coming back to
+consciousness when the landlord's stable-boy came in for hay for the
+horses of some early travellers.</p>
+
+<p>Tad ate his porridge, paid his reckoning, and walked briskly on,
+avoiding the busy high roads as much as possible, and taking short cuts
+across fields and through copses, lest he should chance to meet some
+one he knew.</p>
+
+<p>Once, about three miles from Crest Mount, he got a lift in a baker's
+cart, so it was only noon when he reached the place. There he bought at
+the post-office, which was also a stationer's shop, a sheet of paper, a
+pencil, an envelope, and a penny stamp, and carrying them to the Green
+where there were some benches, he sat down and wrote to his father,
+giving him an account of how the baby had been stolen, and adding that
+as he did not dare to face his stepmother after what had happened, he
+should not come home any more. He sent his best love to Bert and Nell,
+expressed a hope that the baby might soon be found, and remained James
+Poole's dutiful son, Tad.</p>
+
+<p>When the letter was posted, the boy felt as though he had shaken off a
+weight. Now he need stay no longer in Crest Mount; he would only just
+buy himself a little loaf and a couple of apples for his dinner, and
+then push on towards a small seaport called Upland Bay.</p>
+
+<p>Though Ponderton—the place where he had lived all his life—was not very
+far from the coast, Tad had never yet seen the sea. But he had read
+wonderful things about it in the absurd penny dreadfuls that he had
+got hold of now and again. His head was full of pirates, of marvellous
+adventures on strange islands, of grand discoveries of countless
+treasures in all sorts of unlikely places. Also he had a vague idea
+that, somehow or other, the sea brought luck sure and certain, and that
+if he could only manage to get to the shore, his fortune was as good as
+made.</p>
+
+<p>He walked on all day, only stopping now and again to ask his way, or to
+beg a drink of water or buttermilk at the farms he passed. But it was
+dark by the time he reached the little town of Upland Bay—a picturesque
+place, perched high upon a bold cliff, while, on the inland side, a
+wide reach of breezy downs and cornfields stretched away for miles, as
+it seemed to Tad when he peered through the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>As he trudged up the High Street, looking curiously about him, and
+eagerly inhaling the cool, strong, salt air, he was suddenly brought to
+a stand in front of the police-station. For there, in full glare of a
+lamp, he saw a large written notice posted up. With blanched cheeks and
+starting eyes he read these words:</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Missing since yesterday morning, Sunday, September 2nd, Edward Poole
+of Ponderton, aged fourteen, having with him a baby boy about eight
+months old. When last seen was carrying the child and a basket through
+the streets of Ponderton. The lad has a big head and thin body, and was
+dressed in a dark grey suit with a cap of the same, and the baby in
+a red flannel dress and coat. A reward will be paid to anyone giving
+information that may lead to the finding of the lad and infant."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>Here, at least, in this out-of-the-way place, Tad had thought to feel
+himself safe; but even here the hue and cry was after him, and a reward
+offered for his capture. Assuredly Mrs. Poole had lost no time. The
+telegraph had been set to work, and probably at every little town and
+village within twenty miles of Ponderton, a written notice had been
+posted.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_5">CHAPTER V</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>DRIVEN FORTH</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>LIKE one in a bad dream, Tad stood and stared at the placard. There was
+something very ominous and startling, on coming for the first time into
+this little town, to find his secret, his story there before him.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay there it is!" he muttered. "My name and my clothes and all, so as
+the perlice should be sure to catch me. Catch me? Ay, and so they may
+yet."</p>
+
+<p>At the thought, he shrank into the shadow of the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, here I am, with my big head, and thin body, and I'm wearin' of
+that very grey suit and cap, and a bobby might just step out and nab me
+this minute. Now what can I do," Tad asked himself, "to put the bobbies
+off the scent and make 'em think there's no Edward Poole in the place?"</p>
+
+<p>Musing intently, the lad had moved stealthily away, and turned down
+a narrow, dark street, where he was less likely to be noticed. Once
+round the corner, he quickened his pace until he came to a little
+archway leading into some kind of a court. Here he undid his satchel,
+produced from it an old snuff-coloured suit that he used to wear when
+doing dirty work, and proceeded to exchange his tidy grey clothes for
+the shabby brown, packing the former carefully away in the satchel.
+He turned his cap inside out, and put it on well forward, shading his
+eyes; then turning his frayed collar up round his throat, he emerged
+from the sheltering archway.</p>
+
+<p>The clouds had been gathering for the last hour or two, and now the
+rain began to fall, the lamps were dim and blurred, and the lad's
+courage revived. A big cookshop attracted him by its savoury odours,
+which made the hungry boy's mouth water. While he was gazing in and
+wondering which of all the good things he should choose if he could
+afford a hearty supper, two men came up, and also paused for a look.</p>
+
+<p>Tad, feeling fairly safe in his old brown clothes, did not move
+away at once, and had not indeed taken much notice of them or their
+conversation, until a sentence—a single sentence—of their talk, turned
+him faint and sick with fear, and set him trembling all over.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Bill, they say there's more partic'lars now about that there
+scoundrel of a boy. You know which I mean—the artful young chap what
+run off with the baby; disappeared with his poor little half-brother."</p>
+
+<p>Not daring to move lest he should be noticed, afraid almost to breathe,
+Tad listened intently.</p>
+
+<p>"No, is there, Fred?" said the man Bill.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Fred; "it 'pears as if this lad Poole was a wonderful
+jealous, spiteful sort of chap, and they're half afeared he may have
+got rid of the baby somehow, just out of pure wickedness—and then run
+away."</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't I like to catch the young gallows-bird!" remarked Bill so
+savagely that Tad would have turned and fled that minute, but that he
+must have given himself away there and then by so doing. "I've got a
+dear little un of my own," resumed Bill in a softened voice, "only
+about eight months old too, and I know just how I'd feel to anyone as
+tried to treat him unjust and unfair."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," remarked the man Fred, "one comfort is that there's little
+chance of the boy gettin' clear away. He's safe to be nabbed sooner or
+later; I only wish I'd the doin' of it."</p>
+
+<p>Then the two men went into the shop, and Tad, with a white, drawn face
+and quaking limbs, moved away from the shop window.</p>
+
+<p>After wandering about among the darkest and poorest streets in the
+town, he found his way at last to the harbour, where several small
+coasters and smacks were about to sail, for the wind was fair, and the
+tide just on the turn.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir, don't you want someone to help on board your boat?" asked
+Tad of the skipper of the largest vessel.</p>
+
+<p>The man turned, took his pipe out of his mouth, and eyed Tad from head
+to foot.</p>
+
+<p>The boy winced under the keen scrutiny, and repeated his question.</p>
+
+<p>"Hum!" grunted the skipper. "And what do you know about the sea?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, lots!" replied Tad, with vivid recollections of the sea-stories he
+had read.</p>
+
+<p>"Ever been to sea before?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, but—"</p>
+
+<p>"Is your father a sailor?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, but—"</p>
+
+<p>"But what?" questioned the man roughly.</p>
+
+<p>"I've read lots about it, and always thought I'd like it of all things."</p>
+
+<p>The skipper gave a little short laugh, which emboldened Tad to remark:</p>
+
+<p>"What I'd like best to be, is a pirate."</p>
+
+<p>"A what?" growled the man.</p>
+
+<p>"A pirate, you know, sir; I've read all about them, and they has the
+jolliest kind of a life, takin' treasure ships and hidin' away the
+gold and di'monds on desert islands where there's no end of wonderful
+things, and then I've—"</p>
+
+<p>"Shut up!" roared the skipper. "Of all the precious young fools I ever
+see, you're the biggest—far away. If them's the sort of yarns you spin,
+you'd never do no good aboard of the 'Mariar-Ann.' So hold your noise
+and be off with you. I'll be bound you're a runaway from home, and your
+mother 'll be comin' along lookin' for you presently."</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't got a mother, but it's true I want to get away out of this.
+I'll do anything, everything you tell me if you'll take me to sea with
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"Now look here, youngster," said the man, "I ain't goin' to get myself
+into a mess, not for nobody. Tell the truth—are you in hidin'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said poor Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you been up to?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's too long a story to tell here," replied the boy, peering about
+him distrustfully into the darkness. "Take me on board and I'll tell
+you all."</p>
+
+<p>"Take you aboard and run the risk of bein' took up myself, for helpin'
+you away? Not if I know it! And now I think of it—" he added half to
+himself—"wasn't there some sort of notice up in the town about a lad
+wanted by the police? Here, Tim," he called to a man who was at work on
+the vessel. "What did you tell me you see wrote up at the station?" And
+the skipper turned his head to hear his mate's reply.</p>
+
+<p>"There—you see, you young scamp," said the skipper, when—his suspicions
+confirmed—he turned once more to address Tad.</p>
+
+<p>But to his surprise, he found himself talking into empty space. The
+culprit at the bar had not waited for the verdict. Tad was gone.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_6">CHAPTER VI</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>AFLOAT</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>WHEN the wind blew the clouds away about midnight, and the moon came
+out, the cold white light falling upon a lonely high road revealed a
+wretched figure toiling on with weary, dragging steps, his garments
+heavy with rain.</p>
+
+<p>This miserable tramp was Tad. He still carried his satchel, but that
+too was drenched, and when he stopped and groped in it for some food
+to stay the pangs of hunger, he pulled out only a squashy mess of
+pulp which had once called itself a penny roll, but which now bore no
+resemblance whatever—not even a family likeness—to that dainty.</p>
+
+<p>With a sigh and a glance of disgust, Tad threw the sop into the ditch
+at the side of the road, and plodded on, splashing recklessly through
+the deep mud and puddles. The road, bounded on the right by cornfields,
+had run along the cliff keeping close to the coastline. But now the way
+cut straight across the shoulder of a promontory, and began to dip to a
+gorge on the further side, between mighty jagged walls where some long
+ago convulsion of nature had broken the cliff line of the shore.</p>
+
+<p>This gully widened towards the beach, ending there, above high-water
+mark, in soft, deep, white sand which gleamed like silver in the
+moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>To the heavy sleepful eyes of the traveller, the spot looked inviting
+enough. Sheltered from the wind, dry under foot, and as lonely and
+deserted as ever a fugitive and a vagabond could desire, this rocky,
+sand-carpeted nook seemed a very haven of refuge to poor Tad. Slowly
+and cautiously picking his way among the irregularities of the gorge,
+the forlorn lad clambered down, and presently found himself in the
+sandy corner which promised so welcome a refuge.</p>
+
+<p>Here, by the white light of the moon, he crawled in and out among the
+rocks till he found a deep bed of dry sand with large boulders all
+round it, so that it was quite a sheltered nest, shutting out the keen
+autumn wind, and screening him too from observation, had there been
+anyone to see.</p>
+
+<p>Here, then, nestling down among the rocks, and burrowing into the sand
+like a rabbit, poor Tad, lulled by the quiet, monotonous wash of the
+waves on the shingle lower down, fell sound asleep—so sound that he
+heard nothing, saw nothing. Till in broad daylight, he awoke suddenly
+with the feeling of something cold against his cheek. And starting up,
+he found a little rough cur gazing inquisitively into his face, with
+its comical head on one side. It was the little, chill, black nose of
+the animal rubbing against his cheek that had waked him.</p>
+
+<p>Tad sprang to his feet alarmed. The sun was high in the heavens; the
+hour could not be far from noon. He had almost slept the clock round.
+Only half awake still, he stared about him with frightened eyes.
+Where there was a dog there might also be people—people who might
+have heard his story, and would perhaps recognise him for the hunted
+young scapegrace who was supposed to have done away with his little
+half-brother.</p>
+
+<p>Hither and thither, with panic-stricken gaze, peered poor Tad, but no
+human form was in sight. He walked a few steps further to get a wider
+view of the shore. Rounding a corner of rock, he spied, in the cleft
+of a boulder, a gleam of colour. As he came nearer, he saw that the
+gleam of colour was the corner of a red bandanna kerchief tied round
+something, in the form of a bundle. But as the boy—cramped and stiff
+with lying for twelve hours in damp things—stooped painfully to examine
+the bundle, the dog leaped past him, and lay down by the rock with his
+forepaws on the knot of the kerchief. Made bold by hunger, and feeling
+sure the bundle contained food, Tad laid his hand upon it and tried
+to lift it, but as he did so, the dog growled and showed his teeth.
+Evidently the animal had been sent to guard the bundle, and the owner
+of both would be back presently.</p>
+
+<p>By this time the boy was perfectly ravenous with hunger, and ready to
+do anything for a meal. He did not, however, wish to run the risk of
+being bitten, and so he at first tried to divert the dog's attention
+by throwing a stick towards the water for him to fetch. But the sharp
+little cur saw through his design, and would not budge an inch.</p>
+
+<p>Then Tad took up an ocean cat-o'-nine-tails of tough, leathery seaweed,
+and tried to frighten the poor little beast away, but it only whined,
+and crouched still closer to the rock.</p>
+
+<p>Made quite desperate by the little animal's faithful resistance, Tad
+at last dragged an old shirt out of his satchel, threw the clinging
+folds over the dog's head and body, tied the sleeves together round
+the little creature, and rolled it, struggling and snapping vainly,
+into a long, bolster-like bundle. This he laid down on the sand, with
+two large stones on the outer folds to keep the dog from extricating
+itself. Then he snatched up the red kerchief and unknotted it. Oh joy!
+What a delightful dinner met the glad eyes of the famished lad. Several
+thick slices of bread and butter, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, part of
+the heel of a Dutch cheese, and a solid-looking, brown-crusted, seed
+loaf, together with a tin flask of cold coffee.</p>
+
+<p>Tad's first impulse was to sit right down, then and there, and gorge
+himself with the food. But fear for his safety mastered even the
+impulse of his hunger, and he remembered that the owner of the dog and
+the red bundle would certainly be returning soon.</p>
+
+<p>Looking about him, uncertain what to do for the best, the lad espied a
+little boat, moored to a rock in shallow water, not very far from the
+place where he was standing. And the idea occurred to him that he might
+get to the boat by wading, row off to a little rocky islet about half a
+mile out to sea, and—</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said he to himself, "I shall be safe, and I'll have time to
+think what to do next."</p>
+
+<p>Another swift look round to see that no one was coming yet—then the boy
+ran down the beach, waded into the water, scrambled into a boat, and at
+once cast off the loop of string which held her to a jutting point of
+the rock.</p>
+
+<p>The tide had turned, and away slipped the boat on a receding wave, into
+deeper water. For a few minutes Tad, in his great hunger, was so busy
+discussing the contents of the red bundle, that he was conscious of
+nothing else. But, as the first sharp pangs of famine were assuaged, he
+glanced about him, and seeing that the tide and current were carrying
+him away from the island, he threw down the remnants of his stolen
+meal, so as to take up the oars, which he had not thought of before.</p>
+
+<p>What were the boy's feelings when he found that there were no oars in
+the boat at all; they must have been left on shore, together with the
+sail and the boat-hook.</p>
+
+<p>With an exclamation of fear and horror, Tad turned his eyes
+despairingly towards the beach, hoping to see someone who would come in
+another boat to his rescue, for his little craft, borne swiftly on the
+ebb of the tide, was drifting steadily out to sea. But no—not a soul
+was in sight anywhere on land, and not a fishing-smack upon the water,
+far as the eye could reach.</p>
+
+<p>Overwhelmed with despair at this new misfortune that had befallen
+him, and perceiving dimly that this, like the others, was clearly the
+outcome of his own wrong-doings, the poor lad in despair threw himself
+down in the bottom of his drifting boat, sobbing and crying till he
+fell asleep again from exhaustion; fell asleep rocked by the swaying
+and heaving of the waters; hushed into a deep and dreamless rest by
+their wash and whisper.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_7">CHAPTER VII</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>JEREMIAH JACKSON</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"BOAT ahoy! Wake up there! Or is it dead you are?"</p>
+
+<p>With these words ringing in his ears, Tad sprang to his feet, nearly
+upsetting the little boat. The sun had gone down, the soft twilight was
+stealing over sea and sky, and close to him was a vessel, a good-sized
+schooner, laden with timber; even her decks were piled with it.</p>
+
+<p>The skipper, a fat, red-headed, freckled man, with kind, blue eyes and
+a big voice, was looking over the ship's side at the poor solitary
+waif, in the oarless, sail-less boat, while another man threw a rope to
+Tad and called to him to catch hold. The boy had just sense enough to
+obey, and the sailor drew the boat close, and in a minute or two Tad
+was safe on the deck of the schooner.</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you come from, shrimp?" asked the fellow who had thrown the
+rope.</p>
+
+<p>"And how do you come to be making a voyage all by yourself?" cried a
+second sailor.</p>
+
+<p>"What's up with your parents, I'd like to know," remarked a third,
+"that they lot you go to sea in a cockleshell?"</p>
+
+<p>"Shut up, boys, and hold your noise, all of you!" said the red-haired
+man in a voice like a speaking-trumpet. "Time enough for all that later
+on. Can't you see, you three blind bats, that the lad's half dead with
+cold and hunger and fear? Here, Frank," he called to a tall boy who
+appeared just then from the cuddy with a big metal teapot in his hand,
+"take the youngster to your place, and let him have a wash and a warm,
+and then give him some tea and cold corned beef, and afterwards bring
+him below to me."</p>
+
+<p>So, an hour later, poor Tad, clean and comfortable, and with his
+appetite satisfied, was ushered into the trim cabin, where the skipper
+sat finishing his own meal.</p>
+
+<p>"Now then, my young voyager," said he, as Tad stood silently before
+him, "give an account of yourself! How did you happen to be floatin'
+round in the sea, as I found you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Afore I say anything, sir," replied Tad, "what do you mean to do with
+me?"</p>
+
+<p>"We're bound for Granville with Norwegian pine," said the skipper; "and
+as I can't alter my course for you, you've got to go along of me."</p>
+
+<p>"And please, sir, where may Granville be? Is it in Wales or maybe
+Scotland?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, my lad, it's in France," rejoined the man.</p>
+
+<p>"France!" exclaimed Tad, aghast. "But I don't want to go to France."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I don't see but what we must stop the ship, and put you aboard
+your small boat—as we're towin' at this present moment—and let you
+drift; then, as sure as my name's Jeremiah Jackson, you'll go to the
+bottom of the sea the first breeze that comes. If you like that better
+than France, I'll give the orders at once." And the big skipper laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir," said Tad, after a minute's reflection, "maybe, arter all,
+it won't be such a bad thing for me to go to France, considerin'—"</p>
+
+<p>"Considerin' what, boy? Now then, make a clean breast of it and tell
+the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"Considerin' as how the bobbies is arter me," replied Tad reluctantly.</p>
+
+<p>The captain gave a low whistle, and a quick glance at the lad's
+downcast face, then he said:</p>
+
+<p>"What are they after you for? What have you been and done?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well sir—to tell the truth, there's several things I done, but the
+perlice ain't arter me for them. It's for the things I ain't done that
+they're arter me."</p>
+
+<p>"It seems to me you must be clean off your head, child, to tell me such
+nonsense," remarked the skipper. "Now then, try and give me something I
+can believe."</p>
+
+<p>So plucking up courage, and seeing real kindness in the fat skipper's
+face, Tad told his story, beginning with the home miseries and his
+longing to revenge himself on his stepmother; then his making off
+with his little half-brother, and the disappearance of the child with
+the gipsies; his subsequent adventures and escapes, his thefts and
+dodges and lies, and the misfortune that had followed him all the way
+through—all this Tad told without keeping back anything.</p>
+
+<p>Jeremiah Jackson listened attentively, only interrupting the boy's
+narrative now and again to ask a question, if Tad's hesitating speech
+did not succeed in making his meaning clear.</p>
+
+<p>But when the lad paused at last, adding only, "That's all, sir," the
+skipper said:</p>
+
+<p>"So you feel as if you'd been unlucky, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," rejoined Tad; "everything's gone agen me from the first; I
+can't think why."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I tell you?" asked Jeremiah, a kind, pitying look coming into
+his blue eyes, and making his big broad face almost beautiful; "it is
+hard for thee to kick against the pricks." Then, seeing that Tad did
+not understand, he added, "When we set out on a wrong and dangerous
+road, lad, we can scarce wonder—it seems to me—if we meets with ill
+luck. S'posin' now, that instead of gettin' out my chart and studyin'
+my course, careful and sure, I just let the ship drive afore the wind,
+whose fault would it be, think you, Teddie Poole, if we run slap up
+agen a rock and come to be a wreck? But judgin' from what you've been
+tellin' me, that's very like what you done."</p>
+
+<p>Tad was silent. Deep down in his heart, where his conscience was
+awakening, he felt the truth of what the skipper said.</p>
+
+<p>Jeremiah Jackson went on:</p>
+
+<p>"I know it's been very hard for you, my poor boy. I don't wonder you
+wanted to run away from home, nor I don't blame you for doin' it—things
+bein' as they was. But the trick you played on your stepmother was a
+mean thing, and it's out of this wrong-doin' that all the rest of the
+bad things has come, makin' of you a thief and a vagabond."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, that's so, but what am I to do now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said the skipper, "maybe you won't relish what I'm goin' to
+say, but if I was you I'd ask this here old Jeremiah Jackson to carry
+me back to England when he sails from Granville in a week's time for
+Southampton. And then, lad, I'd make the best of my way home again—even
+if I had to tramp it; and I'd tell the bobbies and my dad too the whole
+truth, and take brave and patient anything as comes after, whether it
+be the lock-up or a good hidin'. No, Teddie Poole, don't look at me so!
+That would be the straight, right, manly thing to do, and what's more,
+it would be the Christian thing too."</p>
+
+<p>Tad hung his head. Jeremiah Jackson had asked a hard thing, a very
+hard thing. And yet the good man's words had touched him; he felt the
+skipper was right. But he shrank from all that he felt sure awaited him
+at home. The thought of his stepmother's relentless wrath daunted him.
+He could almost see her frowning, hateful face, and hear his father's
+stern voice and hard words. All that he must do and suffer if he took
+the course suggested to him, came to his mind now, and overwhelmed him
+with dread.</p>
+
+<p>"Think it out, lad, to-night," said Jeremiah, "and ask the good Lord
+Who ain't far—so the Scripture says—from anyone of us, to help you to
+do the right, and leave the rest with Him."</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_8">CHAPTER VIII</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>FOXY AND PHIL</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THE "Stormy Petrel," as Jeremiah Jackson's vessel was called, remained
+nearly a week at Granville, discharging her cargo, and loading again
+with various goods for Southampton.</p>
+
+<p>During these days Tad was in a miserably uncertain state of mind. At
+one time he would almost resolve to take the good skipper's advice,
+and go home to face bravely anything that might happen. At another, he
+shrank from the thought of returning, and felt as though he could far
+more easily brave any amount of unknown dangers, than go back to the
+home troubles that he knew so well.</p>
+
+<p>On the afternoon of the day before the schooner was to sail, Tad was
+standing about on the wharf feeling very unhappy, and very uncertain
+as to what course to take. While he wandered listlessly round, he met
+a boy about twelve years of age, with a monkey in his arms. A small
+organ was strapped across the lad's shoulders, and when he turned the
+handle of the instrument, it ground out a horrible parody of a popular
+French tune, and the monkey, leaping from its bearer's arms, danced a
+queer kind of hornpipe on the top of the organ, tossing its little red
+cap in the air, and pretending to be in the best of good spirits. What
+a feeble pretence this was, however, even Tad could see, for the poor
+little beast had a face almost as pinched and woebegone as that of the
+organ boy, and that was saying a great deal.</p>
+
+<p>As it happened, Tad was still mooning over the second half of his
+dinner, so much absorbed was he in perplexing thought. All on board
+the schooner had been too busy that day to have a proper dinner set
+out, and Tad had received his rations of bread and salt pork, and a
+substantial baked apple dumpling, and had been told to go on shore and
+eat it there. The bread and meat had been eaten, and the first hunger
+being appeased, Tad had once more fallen into a brown study, out of
+which he was roused only when the poor little organ lad and his monkey
+had come quite near, and were casting longing glances upon the dumpling
+which Tad held—only half folded in paper—in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>The mute language of want is one which the eyes speak very plainly. At
+least this language is plain enough to those who have suffered from
+hunger, and Tad knew only too well what it was to be hungry. So when
+he saw the longing look in the eyes both of boy and beast, he promptly
+handed over his dumpling, and for a while forgot his own troubles in
+the delight with which his bounty was received.</p>
+
+<p>The organ boy broke off a generous piece first for his little charge,
+then sitting down in a quiet corner of the wharf, he began to eat his
+own share, gratefully smiling and nodding his thanks to Tad, but not
+saying a word.</p>
+
+<p>"The little chap's a Frenchman, for sure," said Tad to himself, "and
+can't speak no English, and he sees plain enough as how I ain't a
+countryman of his. That's why he don't try to talk to me. Still he may
+have learned a few words of English while he carried his organ round;
+I'll try him and see if he understands me."</p>
+
+<p>"Look here," said Tad, laying a hand on the little lad's shoulder to
+arrest his attention, "are you a French boy, or what?"</p>
+
+<p>The child shook his head, but whether this meant that he was not a
+French boy or that he did not understand what was being said to him,
+Tad could not tell.</p>
+
+<p>"I do wish I knowed if you can understand what I says to you," said
+Tad; "I'd like to have a talk with you if you do but understand and
+speak a little bit of English. Now, what's your name?"</p>
+
+<p>The organ boy looked full in Tad's face, then glanced round timidly,
+and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, not so loud! I'm English, like you; my name's Phil Bates, but
+I've a French master, and he's forbidden me to speak to any of my own
+people, and if he catches me at it, don't he beat me just!"</p>
+
+<p>His tone and manner were quiet and restrained, and his language more
+refined than might have been expected in a boy of his appearance and
+employment.</p>
+
+<p>"And how do you come to be with a French master?" inquired Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my aunt, (her I lived with after father and mother died) she sort
+of sold me to old Foxy. She was poor and had some children of her own,
+and was glad to be rid of me, and so Foxy (Renard is his name) gave a
+half sov for me, and he's got me, worse luck!"</p>
+
+<p>"Was you sold here in France?" asked Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Foxy went over to England for something or other. We was livin'
+not far from Southampton, and he happened to see me standin' at
+auntie's cottage door, and her close by. And says he to her in that
+wonderful lingo of his, 'Mine good womans, is dis so pretty boy your
+own cheaild?'</p>
+
+<p>"And says auntie, 'No, he ain't, he's only a nevvy.'"</p>
+
+<p>"So then Foxy says, 'It is for such boy dat I am looking, good madame;
+dis one will be quaite suit for my work, and I will give truly gold for
+him, one piece of ten shilling for the cheaild, and wat you call half
+crown for his clothes—all dat he have. So den mine good womans, is dis
+one bargain?'</p>
+
+<p>"Them was his very words!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, he reg'lar bought you!" cried Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, in course he did. Well—my aunt she says 'No' when he asks her
+if that was a bargain, and she cried a bit and said somethin' about
+her poor dead sister's child, and cried again and said 'Yes' to Foxy,
+and—well—here I am!"</p>
+
+<p>And the boy stuffed the last remnant of the apple dumpling into his
+mouth, and getting up, slung the organ over his shoulder, and took the
+monkey in his arms again. He was just moving away, when a harsh, hoarse
+voice behind Tad said angrily:</p>
+
+<p>"And wat is dis dat I hear? Can it be dat de boy Anglais wat am in
+my care to learn de French language have once again disobey, and is
+speaking his mudder tongue? Ah, mine cheaild, you did not tink dat over
+dere, hiding and watching 'mong de rubbidge on de water side, was your
+master! But now who am you?" went on Renard, addressing himself to Tad,
+"and how come you to dis country?"</p>
+
+<p>"I came on that schooner," replied the lad, pointing towards the
+"Stormy Petrel."</p>
+
+<p>"You look not like a sailor," remarked Renard, eyeing the boy
+suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't one neither," said Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"Den widout doubt you shall return to Angleterre in dis same boat?"
+suggested the man.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that I shall," rejoined Tad, his face clouding over again.</p>
+
+<p>"La France is a lov'ly country, mon cher," remarked Renard. "It shall
+be better for you to stay here; go not back across de sea."</p>
+
+<p>"But I ain't got nothin' to do here," said Tad. "No country's lovely
+when a chap's starvin'."</p>
+
+<p>"But have you not over de sea in Angleterre some peoples dat waits for
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"Good! Den hark at me!" said Foxy, laying one brown, claw-like hand on
+Tad's shoulder, and fixing his yellow-green eyes on the boy's face.
+"Let sail away dat ship, and you take service wid me. Philipe here, and
+his so lov'ly monkey shall your camarades be, and we weel go togedder
+about, and all so gay happy be—eh?"</p>
+
+<p>Tad did not answer. Here again was an offer which he did not find it
+easy either to accept or refuse. Instinctively, he shrank from this
+cat-eyed man, with his repulsive face and his strange lingo. And yet,
+would he be worse off with him than with his home people? For all Tad's
+lessons—hard though they had been—had not yet taught him that to choose
+the right—however unpromising—was the only safe way. He was still on
+the lookout for the easiest and pleasantest path through life, and had
+no thought of seeking first the kingdom of heaven and the righteousness
+of God.</p>
+
+<p>Renard waited quietly for a minute or two, furtively watching the
+boy's face. Tad glanced round and saw him, and recoiled from him as
+from some poisonous reptile. Indeed his fear of the man was so real
+that he hesitated to say the words which would pledge him to this new
+and strange service. Perhaps after all he would have decided to return
+with Jeremiah Jackson to England, had not Phil, the organ boy, gazed
+wistfully up into Tad's eyes, whispering "Do—do join us! I'm that
+lonely and desp'rate as I don't know how to bear myself."</p>
+
+<p>"You really want me?" said Tad, to whom—after all his many
+experiences—the thought of being wanted by some one was very sweet.</p>
+
+<p>"I do, dreffully," replied the child.</p>
+
+<p>"That settles it, then!" said Tad. "All right, mister," he added,
+turning to Renard, "I don't mind working for you, only what about
+wages?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, mine good friend, we shall talk of dat leetle affairs later. And
+for de present, will you not fetch your tings from de boat?" suggested
+Foxy with a leer that showed a line of black, ragged stumps of teeth.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got nothin' save a very few clothes," answered Tad, "but I'll
+bring 'em at once, and say good-bye to Jeremiah Jackson at the same
+time."</p>
+
+<p>"Jeremie Jacqueson?" repeated Foxy. "Say you dat he is de man wat
+sailed you to la France?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; what's the matter?" inquired Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"De matter is dat you shall not make your adieu to Jeremie," replied
+Foxy with a threatening look. "He is enemy of me, and he weel hold you
+back and not suffer you to come wid me."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, mister," said Tad, "he's got no right to interfere; I can do
+as I please."</p>
+
+<p>Foxy shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Fetch dose tings of your, but say not one leetle word to Jeremie of
+old Renard; so den all will go well, and when de ship sail, you shall
+be far from here, and Jeremie, my enemy, finds you not."</p>
+
+<p>Once more Tad hesitated. This secrecy did not please him; and besides,
+it seemed ungrateful to leave the good skipper without a word of
+acknowledgment and farewell.</p>
+
+<p>The wily Frenchman saw the hesitation, and determined to clinch the
+matter once for all.</p>
+
+<p>"Ma foi, mine boy!" said he roughly. "If it like you not to do wat I
+tell you, go—go to your Jeremie, and come not back. I shall find oders
+dat weel be enchante to work for good, kind, old Renard," and the man
+took little Phil by the arm and began to walk away.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop, stop, mister!" cried Tad. "Wait for me. I'll just run on board
+for my things, and I'll be with you in a minute. I promise I won't tell
+the skipper nothin', as you say he ain't no friend of yours."</p>
+
+<p>Tad kept his word, and in three minutes he had joined the Frenchman
+and little Phil, and thereby started on a new and perilous road in his
+journey of life.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_9">CHAPTER IX</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>A SLAVE INDEED</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>OLD Renard, as Tad soon found, was a Jack-of-all-trades. He could
+turn his hand to most things, though he did no sort of work well or
+thoroughly. But he was a bit of a tinker, a basket-maker, and mender;
+he could do a bit of rough cobbling for any villager who wanted a pair
+of boots mended; he could put a passable patch in a pair of trousers;
+and he could even play the dentist after a fashion of his own, and take
+out teeth, often getting a sound tooth by mistake, and very cheerfully
+giving any amount of pain for his fee.</p>
+
+<p>Then, too, he was a bit of a pedlar, and generally carried about with
+him a box of cheap jewellery, relics, and knick-knacks, on which, by
+aid of his glib tongue, he made a fair profit. He also sold patent
+pills and ointments and quack remedies to the ignorant folk, besides
+earning many a dishonest penny by the telling of their fortunes. But it
+was by the lads in his employ that he made the most regular part of his
+income, and Tad soon found that his new work was by no means a bed of
+roses, and that old Foxy was quite as fully bent upon making him serve
+with rigour, as were the old Egyptian task-masters with their Israelite
+bondsmen.</p>
+
+<p>Every morning, early, Phil and Tad were sent out into the streets of
+any town in which they happened to be. Phil had his little organ and
+monkey Jacko, and Tad was obliged to carry a much larger and noisier
+instrument, which sent forth a hoarse mingling of howl and screech when
+he turned the stiff handle, eliciting much bad language from people
+condemned to listen to it.</p>
+
+<p>Every day the lads were compelled to give their master a certain sum.
+Sometimes they earned a little more, sometimes less, but not a sou did
+he ever abate of the sum to be paid to him; and if the required amount
+were not forthcoming every night on their return, the boys met with
+punishment more or less severe, according to the state of intoxication
+reached at the time by their master. For Renard was a heavy drinker,
+though seldom helplessly drunk. His was a head accustomed to alcohol,
+and he could take a great deal without other results than to make him
+quarrelsome and violent. But in the later stages of his drinking bouts,
+he became utterly unreasonable and a perfect savage, beating the lads
+unmercifully, and using horrible language.</p>
+
+<p>It was only when he was tired out, exhausted with his own violence,
+that he fell into a deep sleep, and then the two English boys dared
+to talk freely after they lay down to rest, exchanging confidences,
+telling their respective stories, and giving each other the sympathy
+which was now their only comfort.</p>
+
+<p>To ensure that his little slaves did not run away from him, Renard
+had taken from them everything that belonged to them save the poor
+clothes they wore. He had sold their little possessions and pocketed
+the proceeds; and now he chuckled with an evil triumph as they left
+him in the morning, for he well knew that even if they tried to escape
+from the bondage in which he held them, they could not get far. Without
+money, or articles which they could turn into money, and also without
+friends—what could they do in a foreign land? Even the so-called
+musical instruments they carried were worthless, and no pawnbroker in
+his senses would have advanced ten centimes upon them.</p>
+
+<p>So passed the days and weeks, and autumn merged into winter. Frost and
+sleet and bitter winds made the lives of the poor boys yet harder to
+bear.</p>
+
+<p>Scantily fed, yet more scantily clothed, housed like dogs, their
+suffering was great, while old Foxy appeared to take a malicious
+pleasure in their misery, and taunted them cruelly when he saw them
+especially downhearted and sad.</p>
+
+<p>At first Tad bore all these new troubles with a kind of dogged,
+stubborn patience. Even such a life as this, he told himself, was
+better than that he had led at home, and as he had made up his mind to
+rough it, rough it he would.</p>
+
+<p>But after a while the growing brutality of Renard roused the lad's
+hatred and instinct of retaliation, and the man himself would have
+shrunk in startled horror, had he guessed what dark and murderous
+thoughts began to fill the brain of this poor, ill-used drudge of his.</p>
+
+<p>But it never occurred to old Foxy that there might be danger to
+himself resulting from his treatment of the lads if he drove them to
+desperation. He had no notion of their doing anything worse than trying
+to run away, or possibly robbing him of food or a few sous; and if they
+did either of these things, he thought he knew how to deal with them.</p>
+
+<p>Time went on, and now Christmas was close at hand: at least it wanted
+only ten days to the twenty-fifth, a festive season for many, but not
+for poor Phil and Tad. Poor gentle little Phil was sadder than ever
+now, for the great cold had killed Jacko, and the boy, who had dearly
+loved his little companion, grieved sorely over his loss, and clung the
+more closely to Tad as his only friend and sole comforter.</p>
+
+<p>One day Renard and the lads were tramping along a high road, on their
+way to a place some miles away. Stopping to rest awhile and eat their
+poor dinner, they were joined by two men who were evidently known to
+Renard.</p>
+
+<p>The newcomers, after a little talk, drew old Foxy away from the
+spot where the boys were seated munching their crusts and drinking
+cold barley coffee out of a bottle. Here the men were quite out of
+earshot, and a whispered conversation commenced, which seemed, from
+the mysterious faces and gestures of the speakers, to be of the utmost
+interest and importance.</p>
+
+<p>Presently it appeared that the two men were to accompany Renard and his
+boys on their journey, for when dinner was over, all rose and walked
+together towards the town, which was reached about nightfall.</p>
+
+<p>The lads slept on straw in a shed in the suburbs that night, and would
+have been thankful to rest undisturbed till morning, for they were very
+weary. But they were roused about midnight by their master's hissing
+whisper:</p>
+
+<p>"Rise and come wid me, bote of you!"</p>
+
+<p>Tad sat up staring straight before him, only half awake, while Phil
+rubbed his heavy eyes and groaned.</p>
+
+<p>"Why," said Tad, "surely it's the middle of the night, master; what do
+you want with us? We are both tired and need to sleep."</p>
+
+<p>"Hold dat tongue of yours, and get you up," replied Foxy sharply; "dat
+is all you have to do. And be queek if you would not haf the steek."</p>
+
+<p>So very weary, and full of fear and foreboding, the boys rose and
+followed Foxy out into the road, where, much to their surprise, a light
+spring cart and good horse were awaiting them, the two strange men
+sitting in front.</p>
+
+<p>"Now then, Renard," said Paul, the one who held the reins, "in with the
+children and yourself! The luggage is in already, you say? Good! Now
+are you ready?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are all in, Paul," said Jean, his companion; "drive on, my
+friend; anyway it will be one o'clock before we get there."</p>
+
+<p>Paul drew the whip across the horse's flanks, the animal sprang
+forward, fell into a spanking trot, and soon left the little town far
+behind.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_10">CHAPTER X</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>WEAK YET SO STRONG</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THE lads dared not exchange even so much as a whisper during their
+drive, for old Foxy was close beside them in the back of the cart.
+But both Phil and Tad felt that they had cause for dread now if never
+before. Anything so unusual as a midnight drive, in the company, too,
+of strangers, had never happened before, and the poor boys, as they
+thought over everything, realised that a crisis of some sort was at
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>Of the two, Tad was the more miserable. With him, hitherto, temptation
+had invariably meant yielding, had brought fresh sin and new troubles.
+And now he feared lest once more he should fall and sink yet deeper in
+the mire.</p>
+
+<p>Since Phil and he had been constant companions, Tad's conscience had
+once more awakened. He felt that Phil was a far better boy than he
+was himself, for in all the trials, the troubles, the miseries that
+had befallen this poor orphan child, he had not lost his honesty, his
+truthfulness, nor his simple faith in God.</p>
+
+<p>Tad was conscious of this, and aware, too, for the first time for
+years, of a longing now and again to be a better lad, more like
+pure-hearted, gentle little Phil; for there was growing up in his heart
+for this friend and fellow-sufferer of his, a great love such as he had
+not hitherto thought he could feel for anyone.</p>
+
+<p>The truest of all books tells us that even a child is known by his
+doings, whether they be pure and whether they be right; and Tad, so
+strong in his self-will, and so weak in temptation, had taken knowledge
+of his little friend, and had come to know that in this frail boy there
+was a certain moral strength wanting in himself.</p>
+
+<p>And now an occasional glance at Phil's small, pale face as the white
+moonlight fell upon it set Tad wondering why this child was so
+different from himself, and whether the events of this night would
+bring to them both serious consequences, or leave them as they found
+them.</p>
+
+<p>He was still deep in thought when the cart stopped. For some time it
+had been driven across what looked like a common, a wide open space,
+with no buildings of any sort upon it; but now the halt was made at a
+little gate, almost hidden by the bushy growth of underwood and young
+trees forming a copse, which began where the common ended, and which,
+though bare and leafless now, cast a deep shadow over the road.</p>
+
+<p>In silence the driver and his companion got down from the front seat,
+and Renard and the boys from the back. Tad noticed that the man Paul
+took from under the seat a small canvas bag, in which some things
+rattled, and also a little parcel which he slipped into his coat
+pocket. The boys looked at each other, a vague horror and fear dawning
+in their faces—a foreboding of danger.</p>
+
+<p>Summoning up his sinking courage, Tad touched Renard on the arm, and
+said in a whisper:</p>
+
+<p>"Master, where may this path lead, and what are we goin' to do?"</p>
+
+<p>Renard turned upon him sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"Dat's not you beezness," he replied. "You keep wid me and speak not."
+And taking the boys by the arm, one on each side, he strode on behind
+the driver and his mate, their feet making no sound on the moss-grown
+pathways along the deep shadows of which Paul now and again turned the
+light of a lantern, so that the little party could see where they were
+going.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the copse ended in another gateway which led into a garden,
+and here, with flower-beds and ornamental trees all round it, in a
+situation which, in summer time, must have been beautiful indeed, stood
+an old-fashioned, quaint, two-storeyed house. A wing, on the right of
+the building, extended as far as what apparently was a stable yard, for
+it was divided from the garden by a wall and a high gate. As the men
+and lads stood—still within the shadow of the trees—looking about them,
+the deep growl and bark of a large dog sounded from the further side of
+the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Hark at that!" whispered Renard to Paul. "It must cease or our journey
+is fruitless."</p>
+
+<p>"It shall cease," replied the man; "have I not come prepared?"</p>
+
+<p>And he drew the parcel from his pocket, and out of it a piece of red,
+raw meat.</p>
+
+<p>Slipping off his shoes, and signing to his companions to follow his
+example, he trod noiselessly across the gravel-walk, and reaching the
+gate in a few strides, flung the meat over.</p>
+
+<p>There was a little fierce rush and growl, a savage snap of powerful
+jaws and click of hungry teeth, then a muffled, choking howl, a
+smothered groan, and silence.</p>
+
+<p>After waiting a minute or two, Paul stole back to the little group
+still standing in the deep shadow.</p>
+
+<p>"That one will bark no more," remarked he. "Now come—there is nothing
+to fear. The monsieur and his lady are quite old, and there are only
+women servants in the place. Follow me."</p>
+
+<p>And Paul led the way round the house to the back, where a little
+scullery or wash-house was built out into the garden, with the kitchen
+apparently behind it. In the wall of the scullery, a small window was
+open.</p>
+
+<p>Paul now whispered a few words in Renard's ear. And the latter nodded
+and said, "Oui, parfaitement," then turned to the boys, who stood by
+wondering what was coming next.</p>
+
+<p>For a minute or so, old Foxy looked first at one of the lads, then at
+the other, then back at the window, as though measuring with his eye
+the available space. At last, making up his mind, he leaned forward,
+and spoke in Phil's ear:</p>
+
+<p>"Philipe, you shall go in dere, and tro' de house, and you weel for us
+open de big door or a weendow if de door be deeficult. Hear you?"</p>
+
+<p>Phil did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>Tad's scared eyes were fixed upon his friend's face, and he saw the
+thin cheeks blanch, but the boy's gaze, fixed upon Foxy, was clear and
+steadfast, and his pale lips were resolute.</p>
+
+<p>"Ma foi! Why answer you not, Philipe?" said his master, after a
+moment's silence. "Hear you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, master, I hear," replied the boy, in a low, firm voice that
+somehow thrilled Tad to the heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Den do wat I tell. Go in dere!" And Renard pointed a crooked
+forefinger at the window. "Queek, queek!" added he, as Phil did not
+stir, "or you weel be sorry." And a threatening look in the man's dark,
+evil face gave emphasis to his words.</p>
+
+<p>Tad held his breath with a strange, mingled feeling of horror, wonder,
+and admiration, as he saw his little companion draw himself up, and
+look straight and unfaltering into Foxy's green eyes. Another moment,
+and the childish voice said firmly:</p>
+
+<p>"No, master, I will not go."</p>
+
+<p>"Wat is dat you say? You weel not?" said Foxy in an angry whisper. "But
+wait a leetle, it am you dat shall pay later, when old Renard give you
+de steek." Then he turned to Tad and said: "You did hear me wat I say
+to Philipe; well now I tell you same. Go you in dere and open to us,
+Edouard."</p>
+
+<p>Tad met his cruel master's wicked, green eyes, then glanced at Paul
+and Jean, who were impatiently waiting. The lad's courage was a poor
+one at best, and though he well knew that the crime of burglary was
+intended, and that he was required to help the burglars, he would never
+have found strength to withstand the pressure put upon him, had not
+Phil just at that moment laid his little, frail hand on his friend's
+shoulder and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Brave it out, Tad! Don't give in!" And then Tad heard the boy add
+under his breath: "O Lord, please help us, and save us from being
+wicked."</p>
+
+<p>"Wed you go in dere?" hissed Foxy again.</p>
+
+<p>"Will I?" repeated Tad, shamed out of his cowardice by Phil's example.
+"Will I, master? No, then—I just won't, so there!"</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_11">CHAPTER XI</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>GOOD-BYE TO FOXY</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>RENARD turned in a white rage towards the men, Paul and Jean, who were
+standing impatiently waiting for the result of the parley with the two
+lads.</p>
+
+<p>"What can I do?" he whispered, his utterance thick with passion. "One
+cannot use force; there might be an outcry which would rouse the whole
+house. What then is to be done?"</p>
+
+<p>Paul advanced a step and pushed him aside.</p>
+
+<p>"Since you have failed, Renard, in your half of the bargain," said he,
+"you cannot expect to share in the profits. Go away now, you and these
+useless boys of yours."</p>
+
+<p>"But Paul," exclaimed Foxy, "did I not—"</p>
+
+<p>"No," interrupted Paul, "I will hear nothing."</p>
+
+<p>And Jean added:</p>
+
+<p>"Enough, Renard; go without more words. Your belongings which are in
+the cart we will leave at No. 9 in the village to-morrow. There—that is
+all we have to say to you—now go."</p>
+
+<p>With a snarl of savage disappointment and rage, Renard, taking the boys
+by the arm, led them away down the dark, shady walk by which they had
+come, and out once more into the road, where, under the shadow of two
+great trees, stood the cart and the patient horse.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but you weel pay for dis, mine sweet boys!" muttered Renard, as
+he dragged the reluctant lads along. "Yes, you weel pay for dis—as
+de English say—tro' de nose. Dis night you have make me lose lot of
+moneys, and old Renard, he forgives not; dat you shall remember for
+effer. Amen."</p>
+
+<p>A village well-known to Foxy was not far distant, and towards this he
+now led the two boys, muttering awful threats in mingled French and
+English, and swearing horribly under his breath. When they hung back,
+or for a moment struggled to free themselves, his cruel clutches forced
+them on.</p>
+
+<p>In this fashion the village was reached, a place which at this hour
+looked like a little city of the dead, for there was not a light in the
+one straggling street of which the hamlet consisted. But Renard went
+straight to a small house standing back a few paces from the crooked
+thoroughfare in a narrow strip of weed-grown garden. Here he knocked
+in a peculiar way—not at the door, but at the window, and in a minute
+or two the door was opened to him. A few words passed between him and
+the man who opened the door, then Renard and the boys were shown into a
+room on the ground floor, where were two straw mattresses and a couple
+a three-legged stools and a table.</p>
+
+<p>Setting down the candle which the owner of the house had given him,
+Foxy locked the door, and pulled off his rusty overcoat, first drawing
+from one of the pockets a coil of stout cord. Then sitting down on one
+of the stools, he proceeded to twist and knot this cord, until he had
+fashioned out of it a kind of rough cat-o'-nine-tails or scourge. But
+he glanced up now and again, and the malignant look on his ugly face—a
+mingling of frown and leer, full of evil triumph and covert menace—sent
+a shudder of fearful expectation through the chilled forms of the two
+lads huddled together on one of the straw mattresses.</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes the instrument of punishment was completed, and
+Renard, getting up from his seat, came towards the bed, and brandishing
+his scourge, said to Tad:</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Edouard, hark to me! You shall take this wiep and you weel beat
+Philipe teel I tell you assez—enough. And as for you, Philipe, put off
+your coat, dat do wiep may work well. So! Allons! Begeen, and forget
+not dat you master is—"</p>
+
+<p>"What!" cried Tad, aghast. "What, master! You want me to set upon this
+poor little chap and flog him? You don't mean it—you can't!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mais certainement I mean it!" replied Foxy, showing his teeth. "Take
+dis wiep of cords and beat well Philips, or—" and the man's face
+assumed a yet more evil and threatening aspect.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't anger him no more, dear Tad," said Phil in a whisper. "Do as he
+tells you. I can bear it. I ain't afeared of a thrashin' that I haven't
+deserved. There, I'm quite ready, and you'll see I won't cry nor make a
+sound."</p>
+
+<p>But Tad that night had learned a great lesson while he stood with the
+burglars outside the little window of the outhouse. He had seen this
+gentle little lad brave the utmost that three villains could do to
+him, rather than commit a crime in obedience to their commands—a crime
+of which, but for Phil's example, Tad felt that he himself should
+certainly have been guilty.</p>
+
+<p>And now—could he inflict pain upon this brave child, for fear of
+anything Renard could do? No—the lesson had not been lost upon the lad.
+True he had been on the downward track ever since he ran away from
+home, but here was the chance for a step up. Once more a chance lay
+before him, and his resolve was taken.</p>
+
+<p>Pulling himself together, he rose and faced Renard, looking full in the
+cruel green eyes without flinching.</p>
+
+<p>"Master," said he firmly, "Phil is little, and I'm big, and what's
+more, he haven't done nothin' wrong, and I ain't a-goin' to lay a
+finger on him—not for you nor no one. I won't—no matter what you say
+nor what you do."</p>
+
+<p>For a minute old Foxy stared at the lad, hardly able to believe his own
+ears. But when Tad repeated: "I wouldn't do master, not if it were ever
+so," the man raised his sinewy right arm and with a blasphemous oath
+struck him down upon the mattress where Phil was lying. Then snatching
+up the scourge which he had dropped for a moment in the surprise of
+Tad's refusal to obey him, he began to use it upon both the boys,
+Tad managing to cover his little friend, now and again, with his own
+broader back, thus shielding him from many a blow.</p>
+
+<p>The flogging went on till Renard's arm was tired and weak. Then he
+flung the instrument of torture aside, and going back to the corner
+where he had thrown his coat, he drew out of one of its capacious
+pockets a bottle of spirit, and sitting down upon the second mattress,
+began to drink, muttering ominously the while.</p>
+
+<p>We have said that, as a rule, Foxy only became more excited and furious
+the more he took, and that he managed to stop short of the helpless
+stage. But this night, either because he was more weary than usual, or
+that he had a greater craving for the stimulant in which he habitually
+indulged, he went on drinking steadily until he passed from the raving
+and excited stage into a drunken stupor, and at last rolled over on the
+straw couch quite unconscious, the now empty bottle escaping from his
+listless hand.</p>
+
+<p>For a little while Tad and Phil lay still. Sore and aching all over,
+they had eagerly watched their master in the various stages of his
+intoxication, and now they half feared lest he should be only shamming,
+to see what they would do.</p>
+
+<p>But at last his stertorous breathing convinced the lads that he was in
+a stupor. Tad was the first to sit up, and Phil, glancing at him, was
+frightened at the expression of his friend's face. The eyes were hard
+and sullen, the mouth rigid, and a dogged scowl was sot deep between
+the brows.</p>
+
+<p>"Now at last," said Tad with a gasp, "we can take some kind of revenge
+upon that brute for all he's made us suffer. I'd like to kill him—I
+would; he deserves it. But I suppose we must be content with robbin'
+him. Where does he keep the tin, Phil?"</p>
+
+<p>The younger lad caught Tad's arm with a look of fear and horror. "Are
+you crazy, Tad?" he whispered. "Do you want to be as wicked as he is?
+After standin' out agen bein' burglars, are we goin' to be common
+thieves! Think, Tad—only think a moment! You must be well-nigh off your
+head, dear old boy, to speak of such a thing."</p>
+
+<p>"But we may never have such a chance again, Phil," said Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that's true; and so let's clear out, and run away from Foxy.
+Better starve or die of cold alone and out in the open than live longer
+with this brute. Come, Tad—come quick, afore he wakes up."</p>
+
+<p>"But we can't get out," whispered the elder lad. "Foxy locked the door,
+and the key's in his right trouser pocket, and he's lyin' on that side;
+we can't get it nohow."</p>
+
+<p>"Then we'll get out at the winder," replied Phil. "See, it opens down
+the middle, and we can just squeeze through. Be quick, Tad; Foxy's
+snorin' like a hog now, but he may wake at any time."</p>
+
+<p>Picking up their coats and caps, the boys opened the window, and just
+managed to get through, though for Tad it was a pretty tight fit.</p>
+
+<p>Then away they went, lame, battered, and sore with their recent blows,
+but running at their best pace down the dark, crooked street, pausing
+not even to take breath, until they found themselves well outside the
+village, with miles of quiet open country stretching away before them,
+and a faint dawn just streaking the far-off east.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_12">CHAPTER XII</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>A FRIEND AND AN ENEMY</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"THERE'S one thing I wish we'd been able to do," said Phil, as soon as
+he could get breath enough to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"And what's that?" asked Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"Warn the people at that house we went to rob, and let 'em know there
+was burglars about," replied Phil. "I never thought of it till now, but
+we might have set up a screech or a loud whistle just to wake folks,
+and maybe frighten Paul and Jean and Foxy."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you silly, we'd only have been murdered if we'd done that," said
+Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"All the same," rejoined Phil the uncompromising, "I think we ought to
+have done it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we can't help ourselves now," remarked Tad, with a sigh of
+relief, for his was not a martyr's spirit, and it had never occurred to
+him to reproach himself until Phil suggested that they had neglected
+their duty.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he repeated, "we can't help ourselves now; it's hours since we
+left them fellows, and any mischief as was to be done has been done
+already. So it's no good goin' back, to say nothin' of our bein' sure
+to meet Foxy."</p>
+
+<p>Phil shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>"We mustn't get into his hands no more, whatever happens," said he;
+"but he'll try and catch us, you may be sure, Tad."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," assented Tad, "we know too much about him not to be dangerous
+now we've run away. So of course he'll want to find us, and we'll have
+to look out."</p>
+
+<p>"We'd better not keep to the high roads in the daytime," said Phil; "if
+we do, he's sure to track us sooner or later."</p>
+
+<p>"The thing is, what can we do? Where can we go?" muttered Tad more to
+himself than to his companion. "Have you any money, Phil?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not a sou, Tad."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I. And how we're to get food and shelter, or find work to keep us,
+goodness knows."</p>
+
+<p>"God knows," corrected Phil gravely, "and it's a comfort He does know.
+But now come on, Tad; we must put some miles between us and old Foxy
+afore the next few hours is over."</p>
+
+<p>For another half-hour they trudged along the road, talking busily, and
+trying to form some plan of action for the future. By this time the sun
+was rising, and the tardy winter morn had begun.</p>
+
+<p>"We must take to the fields now," said Phil. "We mustn't be seen on the
+road by any folks goin' to market, for old Foxy will be sure to ask
+everybody he meets if they've seen us, and if they had, why, it would
+end in our bein' nabbed. Come along, Tad!"</p>
+
+<p>So the boys left the highway, and clambering over a gate, walked along
+a strip of low marsh-land, which was, however, dry now with the frost.</p>
+
+<p>Here, sheltered from view by the hedge, they followed the windings of
+the road for some distance, feeling quite safe. But as the morning
+advanced, and the excitement of their escape subsided, the pangs of
+hunger and thirst became almost intolerable. And when they spied in the
+distance a little house standing among trees, they resolved to go there
+and beg for something to eat.</p>
+
+<p>As they approached nearer, they saw that the house was not an ordinary
+cottage, but a substantial and neatly built, though small, building of
+two storeys. It had a stable and coach-house at the back, and a little
+yard where cocks and hens were crowing and clucking over a feed of
+grain just thrown out to them.</p>
+
+<p>A pale, dark-eyed, sad-faced woman answered the timid knock at the door
+which Tad gave.</p>
+
+<p>"What would you, my children?" she asked gently. "You look weary and
+ill. What ails you? Tell me!" And her kind eyes rested with a wondering
+pity upon Phil, whose thin, patient, white little face appealed to her
+motherly heart.</p>
+
+<p>"We are starving, madame," said Tad, in the queer French he had picked
+up during his short stay in France; "and we have not a sou to buy
+bread. Will you, of your goodness, give us something to eat, that we
+may have strength to pursue our journey?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oui, certainement," replied the woman kindly. "Come into my kitchen,
+children; there sit down by the hearth, and warm yourselves, while I
+make ready for you."</p>
+
+<p>Soon a plentiful meal of hot milk and bread, and thick pancakes of
+buckwheat flour, was put before them. As the famished lads ate and
+drank their fill, their hospitable hostess paused now and again in
+her work, to smile at them approvingly, and heap their plates, and
+replenish their cups with a fresh supply of food and drink.</p>
+
+<p>At last the cravings of appetite were satisfied, and seeing how weary
+and sleepy the boys looked, the good woman said:</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, my children; I can see that you need rest; indeed one would
+think you had had no sleep all night. Now there is clean straw laid on
+the floor of my apple room, at the back of the house. Would you not
+like to lie down there and rest—both of you—for a few hours?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah yes, indeed we should, madame!" cried Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"And thank you, oh, thank you for your goodness!" said Phil, glancing
+up gratefully with wistful, moistened eyes. For after all that the boys
+had known of late of hardship, privation, and above all of cruelty—they
+could hardly accept without tears, the motherly kindness of this
+gentle-hearted stranger.</p>
+
+<p>She led them to the back of the house, and opening a door, ushered
+them into the little room where the winter fruit stores were kept. On
+shelves round the walls were arranged, in tidy rows, on clean paper,
+rosy-cheeked apples, and hard, sound, brownish-green baking pears,
+while on the straw in one corner reposed several enormous golden
+pumpkins. Dried herbs of many kinds hung in bunches from strings
+carried across the room just below the rafters of the low roof, and
+little lath boxes of various seeds had a small shelf all to themselves.
+But on the floor, at the corner of the room furthest from the door, was
+a thick mass of fresh straw and hay, dry and fragrant, and to this the
+woman pointed.</p>
+
+<p>"Lie down there, my children," she said, "and sleep as long as you
+will."</p>
+
+<p>As they crept thankfully into their cosy bed, she went and fetched
+a horse-blanket and covered them carefully with such sweet, womanly
+tenderness, that Phil caught her hand and kissed it, and Tad looked
+up into the kind, sad face, his own softened and made beautiful by
+gratitude. Then with a gentle "Sleep well, my children!" their new
+friend left them to their repose.</p>
+
+<p>The boys must have slept about eight hours, for when they awoke it
+seemed to be late in the afternoon. The sun was no longer shining
+in through the slats of the shutter window; indeed the daylight
+appeared already to be on the wane. Moreover, a voice which somehow
+was familiar, and dreamily associated in their minds with something
+distinctly unpleasant, sounded in their ears, and presently roused them
+to full consciousness.</p>
+
+<p>"Hark!" whispered Tad. "What's that?"</p>
+
+<p>And the boy sat up, the old, fearful, hunted look coming back into the
+face just lately so serene in sleep.</p>
+
+<p>"It's someone talkin' with the woman, ain't it?" said Phil.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes—but don't you know the voice?" gasped Tad. "It's that man Paul,
+one of them burglars."</p>
+
+<p>"What shall we do?" cried Phil. "Has he come after us?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," rejoined Tad; "but p'raps this is where he lives, and maybe
+he's just got home. Listen, Phil; we'd better be quite sure it's he,
+and if the woman's told him anything, afore we makes up our mind what
+to do."</p>
+
+<p>Still as mice, the lads lay buried in the straw under the blanket, and
+listened breathlessly. Part of the talk they could not hear, only a low
+murmur of two voices reaching their ears.</p>
+
+<p>But at last the man's voice said distinctly:</p>
+
+<p>"Enough, Claudine; why waste my time and patience with those
+everlasting remonstrances of thine? See here, could all thy industry or
+mine, year in, year out, win such a pretty bauble as this?"</p>
+
+<p>Here there was a pause, as though the man were showing the woman
+something. Then he went on:</p>
+
+<p>"Let me put it about thy neck, my dear! Why dost thou draw back? It is
+but a plain gold cross and chain such as any woman may wear; take it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Never, Paul," replied the woman's voice passionately. "Never will I
+wear stolen goods. Oh, my husband!—" And here her voice broke, and she
+went on sobbingly, "thou art breaking my heart and spoiling my life
+and thine own. Think how happy we were only a short time ago, before
+the evil days of thy friendship with Jean Michel and his companions!
+Why not be content with honest labour, instead of living in fear and
+remorse as we must? For this is now the third time that thou hast
+returned from a bad night's work, bringing me gifts which I can but
+refuse as accursed things."</p>
+
+<p>Paul laughed a little hard laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"The things I bring home are but a little love-token for thee,
+Claudine. The rest of our booty finds its way to the smelting-pot
+of our Hebrew friends in the town, and thenceforth tells no tales.
+And as for my safety, wife, no fears. We work in crape masks, and we
+cover our tracks with skill. The only danger is now and then from our
+accomplices."</p>
+
+<p>"And how so?" questioned Claudine.</p>
+
+<p>Then the man told his wife how he and Jean had been joined by Renard
+and his lads on the previous night, and how, at the last moment, the
+boys had refused to do their master's bidding, so that Renard and they
+had been ordered off as worse than useless for the job they had in hand.</p>
+
+<p>"And the danger is," added Paul, "lest that dirty old rascal or one of
+the brats should carry some story about us to the police, just out of
+spite. As it was, we had a great deal of needless trouble. Had the boys
+been content to enter and open to us, all would have been so simple,
+so easy. But since they refused, we were forced to break in, and this
+made noise, and some of the household were roused, so that we could not
+get all we had hoped; and this, after our precautions, and our clever
+poisoning of the dog, was too bad! Ah!" added Paul fiercely. "Could
+I but lay hands on those two little rascals, I would teach them to
+disobey again!"</p>
+
+<p>"Did they then refuse to enter and open to thee and thy companions,
+Paul?" asked the woman.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, they said they would not go, and even the threats of their master
+availed not; and we could not use force for fear of an outcry."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me, what like were the lads?" inquired Claudine. "Were they small
+or big? French or—"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, wife, what makes then so curious about a matter that, of a
+truth, concerns thee not?" said Paul suspiciously. "Thou art never
+likely to set eyes upon the young miscreants. That greedy old
+bag-of-bones—Renard, the thief, mountebank, tailor, tinker, and what
+not—has got the lads, body and soul, and he is not likely to let them
+out of his sight."</p>
+
+<p>"Are they French?" asked Claudine again.</p>
+
+<p>"No, certainly not. With their master they spoke the English tongue,
+and a hard, jaw-breaking, cursed language it is too. One of the boys
+was little with a pale face, and the other taller, with a big round
+head like one of thine own pumpkins, Claudine. Ah, let me but catch
+them, the young monkeys! And in the space of ten minutes, no one should
+know them for the same children."</p>
+
+<p>To this the woman made no reply that the lads could hear; but they had
+heard enough to make them look at each other in renewed fear and horror.</p>
+
+<p>"We can't stay here another moment, Phil," whispered Tad. "We must go."</p>
+
+<p>The slatted, wooden shutter which served as a window was only fastened
+by a hook on one side. Tad stole across the straw-covered floor,
+slipped the hook out of the ring, and the shutter swung open. Swiftly
+and noiselessly the boys got out, and found themselves in a small back
+garden communicating by a gate with the yard, and divided only by a low
+fence from a lane, the tall, bare trees of which they could see rising
+above the fence. To clamber over, and drop down into the lane on the
+other side, was the work of a moment. Then away—away, in the fading
+light, as though flying for their lives—sped the two poor lads, once
+more fugitives and vagabonds in a strange land.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_13">CHAPTER XIII</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>UNEXPECTED NEWS</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THE plentiful meal and long sleep obtained through Claudine's
+hospitality and kindness, had done the lads good service. And when they
+recovered from their excitement and first dread of pursuit, and found
+themselves clear of the neighbourhood of the house, they felt strong
+enough to push on at a fair pace. The darkness was coming so rapidly,
+that the boys thought they might with perfect safety keep to the road.
+Along the road accordingly they trudged, looking carefully about them,
+however, and ready to hide under a hedge or crouch in a ditch, or dodge
+behind a tree at the wayside, at the least sound or threatening of
+danger.</p>
+
+<p>It was about eight o'clock, and they were beginning to think of making
+a halt for a rest of half an hour or so, when a slow, heavy rumbling of
+wheels along the highway made them look round.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Phil," said Tad, "it's some of them travellin' carts the tramps
+and gipsies use, ain't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Looks like 'em," replied Phil. "I wonder if the people would give us a
+lift just to the next town or wherever it is they're goin'!"</p>
+
+<p>"Let's ask 'em," said Tad. "See, there's the first cart quite near."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we go and speak to that man walkin' at the horse's head?" asked
+Phil.</p>
+
+<p>"You go, Phil. You speak their lingo best," rejoined Tad.</p>
+
+<p>Phil accordingly left his companion's side, and stepping into the
+middle of the road, bade the man a very courteous good evening, adding:</p>
+
+<p>"My friend and I are very weary, monsieur, having come far. Would you
+have the goodness to suffer us to ride in one of your carts for a
+little way?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, my child, with pleasure," replied the old fellow kindly.
+"Get in here. My wife Sophie and a friend of hers are inside, but there
+is still plenty of room. The carts coming behind are for the most part
+full of children and the things we are taking to sell at a fair."</p>
+
+<p>So saying, the old man stopped the horse, and the lads clambered into
+the cart, where they were kindly received by the two women, who were
+busily employed weaving rush baskets by the light of a little oil lamp.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down there, my children," said Sophie, pointing to a sort of
+bench which extended the whole length of the cart, like the seat of an
+omnibus.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe the boys are hungry," suggested the other woman, "and we cannot
+get supper till we find a good place for camping out."</p>
+
+<p>"Give them some bread to stay their hunger till then, Pelagie,"
+answered Sophie.</p>
+
+<p>And presently the lads were each munching away at a substantial hunch
+of bread sprinkled with salt.</p>
+
+<p>On jolted the cart, followed by three others, but it was ten o'clock
+that night before the caravan came to a place suitable for an
+encampment. Tad and Phil, grateful for the kindness shown them, and
+delighted to make themselves useful, helped to unharness the horses,
+and tether them to stakes which they drove into the ground. They
+brought water from a little stream, and gathered together, from under
+the trees by the roadside, a quantity of dead wood for a fire.</p>
+
+<p>The spot that had been chosen for camping out, was a tract of waste
+land between two hills of limestone rock. The place was strewn with
+stones, but was quite dry, and the fire blazed up merrily, shedding a
+welcome warmth, for the night was cold.</p>
+
+<p>Over this fire, as soon as it burned clear and hot, the huge soup-pot
+was hung. Into it had been put a big lump of the prepared spiced and
+salted lard (a mixture of beef and hog's fat clarified and cured) of
+which the Norman peasantry make their usual soup.</p>
+
+<p>Then as the grease melted in the pot, vegetables of several sorts were
+added, but chiefly potatoes, onions, and winter cabbage, with all the
+stale crusts and odds and ends of food remaining over from the day's
+rations. The pot was then filled up with water, a handful of salt mixed
+with peppercorns being thrown in. And soon this wonderful mixture was
+simmering musically over the fire, emitting a very savoury odour.</p>
+
+<p>While waiting for supper to be ready, some of the grown-up people
+belonging to the caravan drew to the fire, and sat down on the short,
+dry stubble.</p>
+
+<p>The children were already asleep in the waggons. A few of the women
+took out their knitting and worked their long needles rapidly, the
+bright steel gleaming in the fitful flare of the firelight. The men fed
+their horses, for there was not grass enough for their food, and went
+round looking for more wood to feed the fire, or sat in the circle,
+shaping garden sticks and broom-handles to sell at the fair.</p>
+
+<p>As for Tad and Phil, when there seemed to be nothing further for them
+to do, they came and joined the cosy party round the fire, seating
+themselves between kind old Sophie and Pelagie.</p>
+
+<p>At first there was a great deal of jabbering going on, but nothing to
+arrest the attention of the lads.</p>
+
+<p>But suddenly Phil caught Tad's arm, and whispered, "Listen, Tad! What's
+the woman saying?"</p>
+
+<p>Tad listened accordingly, and having learned enough now of the
+Normandy patois French to understand what was said, when he paid close
+attention, he at once became interested. For a woman of the party had
+said to old Sophie:</p>
+
+<p>"I forgot to ask thee, Sophie, did a letter reach thee from Angleterre,
+from thy daughter, as we passed through the town?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Dieu merci, it did, and it was a letter that made my old heart
+glad."</p>
+
+<p>"And how so, Sophie, if one may ask?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, tell us!" cried another voice. "Thou knowest well, good mother,
+that all that interests thee has interest also for us."</p>
+
+<p>"After the last letter that came, I told you, did I not, my friends,"
+said the old woman, "how unhappy my poor child was?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but not wherefore she was so vexed in spirit," replied Bernadine,
+a big woman with a baby in her arms. "Was that English gipsy husband of
+hers unkind to her?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, Bernadine; from the time that Jake the gipsy saw and loved my
+Marie when she was in service over there, he has been as kind as any
+husband could be, and for love of him she is more than half English
+already; but—"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, good mother, tell us! What?"</p>
+
+<p>But what the good mother had to tell we must leave to the next chapter.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_14">CHAPTER XIV</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>OLD MEMORIES AND A NEW IDEA</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"SHE lost her little one when it was six months old," answered the old
+woman, "and she was grieving and pining, and well-nigh heart-broken,
+when one day le bon Dieu sent her, in a strange, unlooked-for way,
+another child!"</p>
+
+<p>"How so, Sophie? Tell us, good mother!"</p>
+
+<p>The old woman went on:</p>
+
+<p>"It was like this, my friends. The gipsy troupe into which my daughter
+Marie married, were encamped one day on a common, and thither came a
+lad with an infant in his arms. Towards evening, he sauntered up to the
+camp and met Marie, and asked her if she would take care of the baby
+for a while, he having business elsewhere. Marie gladly took the child,
+having no thought then but to give it back when its young guardian
+returned.</p>
+
+<p>"But night came on, and the old gipsy chief gave the word to move on,
+and the boy had not returned. And then arose the great longing in
+Marie's heart to keep the baby boy—did I say it was a boy?—to comfort
+her for the loss of her own infant. She yielded to the temptation, and
+the troupe left the neighbourhood that night, the stranger child with
+them, and Marie's sore heart has healed now she has a little one in her
+arms again. Albeit she writes me that she cannot but think sometimes of
+the child's mother, who may be sorrowing even yet over the loss of her
+baby."</p>
+
+<p>During the story Tad clutched Phil's arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Only think of that," he whispered. "Ain't it just wonderful?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush," said Phil, "let's hear it out."</p>
+
+<p>"Said thy daughter nought of coming over to France to see thee?" asked
+the big Bernadine.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon; yes she did say that she and her husband were trying to scrape
+together money enough to bring her over, for it is three full years
+since she left with the English family, and she is a dutiful daughter,
+God be thanked, and would fain see her old parents again."</p>
+
+<p>"And will it be soon, thinkest thou, good mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot tell for sure, but it may be soon. The troupe are near
+Southampton now, and thence, I have heard, sail many English vessels
+for la France. But who knows if Marie will get the money for her
+voyage?"</p>
+
+<p>"Knowest thou, mother Sophie," said a man who had not hitherto spoken a
+word, "that if Marie be caught by the police of the country, she could
+be severely punished for stealing that child?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, sayest thou so, Pierre?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it is a dangerous thing to do, and I wonder much that she has
+escaped till now."</p>
+
+<p>"She wrote me that, for safety's sake, she burned all the little boy's
+clothes, and dressed him in her own baby's things. And also, for the
+first month, she coloured his skin and hair with walnut juice and
+water, to make him dark like her own child. After that the troupe moved
+so far away, that she thought all danger was past."</p>
+
+<p>"Without doubt she was right," said Pierre; "indeed it has proved so,
+since—but stay—who is that approaching us across the open, from the
+road?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is a man—a stranger," said Bernadine.</p>
+
+<p>"An old man he looks, by the light of the moon," said Sophie.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps he is cold and hungry," suggested old Jacques, Sophie's
+husband. "If so, he is welcome to a share of our fire and our supper."</p>
+
+<p>But just then Tad glanced in the direction of the newcomer, and gave a
+smothered gasp.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh look, Phil, look!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>And Phil looked and rose instantly to his feet, followed by Tad. The
+younger boy turned to Sophie.</p>
+
+<p>"Good mother, we thank and bless you for your goodness to us, poor
+stranger boys," he said, "and we ask of you one more favour. This man
+who now is coming towards us is a wicked, cruel master, from whom,
+after sore treatment, we have only just escaped. If he catches us, he
+will surely kill us. So we must go away at once, and we entreat you,
+betray us not. Say not that two boys were here but now. He cannot have
+seen us yet; so far we are safe; so, for the love of heaven, tell him
+naught."</p>
+
+<p>"Fear not, my poor children, he shall know nothing from me, nor indeed
+from any of us; eh, my friends?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is so, good mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Then good-night, my boys, and may God guard you!"</p>
+
+<p>The next moment the two lads, parting from the circle round the dancing
+firelight, had vanished into the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>As the poor lads fled once more from the approach of the old enemy,
+they were at first almost in despair. And no wonder; for they had
+believed themselves out of reach of pursuit at last. And now to see
+that wicked old Foxy apparently tracking them like a sleuthhound, was a
+dreadful thing.</p>
+
+<p>But as their fear gradually subsided, they began to feel that Renard's
+appearance among the French gipsies was no indication what over of his
+knowing where they (Tad and Phil) were; and that, had he seen them
+sitting with their hospitable entertainers round the fire, he would
+probably have been to the full as much surprised as they had been to
+see him.</p>
+
+<p>But it gave the lads a renewed sense of danger to have caught sight,
+even for a moment, of the man who had shown himself so treacherous a
+companion, so cruel a master, and it was not strange that Tad presently
+said despondingly:</p>
+
+<p>"It's no go, Phil, we'll never be safe till we're out of France."</p>
+
+<p>"Out of France? That's easier said than done," rejoined Phil. "And how
+are we to get out of this country?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, I'm sure! That's the worst of it. We seem headed off
+all round. But I did hear that this road leads to St. Malo, and that
+English vessels is always comin' in and out of there. There may p'r'aps
+be some chance for us, Phil, if we get to St. Malo."</p>
+
+<p>"That's just what old Foxy's reckonin' upon our thinkin'," replied
+Phil, "and that's why he's come along this road after us, I should say.
+And he'll have a much better chance to nab us down at St. Malo than
+he's had here in the country, where there's always places to hide in.
+It's risky, and just think how long we might have to stay in the town
+before we'd a chance of crossin' over to England—if ever the chance
+came at all."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, I didn't think of that," answered Tad. "I wish we was back in
+Granville, I do; I'd like to turn in our tracks this minute and go
+right back there. Renard would never think of our doin' that, and would
+go on to St. Malo lookin' for us. At Granville, p'raps we might see
+Captain Jeremiah Jackson again with his schooner; he that picked me up
+when I was floatin' about in a open boat."</p>
+
+<p>"But dare you think of goin' back to England at all?" asked Phil.
+"After what you've told me, I shouldn't think you'd want to go home.
+Think of your stepmother, Tad, and the police that was after you for
+takin' away your little brother!"</p>
+
+<p>In his longing to get away from the dangers and troubles that beset
+him in France, Tad had forgotten those that drove him from his native
+place, and were still awaiting him there. Now he was silent for some
+time, turning things over in his mind. What Phil said was true, only
+too true. Hard as things had been for him in France, they would be
+worse still in England, unless indeed he could do something to deserve
+and ensure a welcome at home, and also prove to the police that he had
+not been guilty of any crime with regard to his little brother.</p>
+
+<p>"You're right enough, Phil," he said at last. "There's one thing, and
+only one, that would make it possible for me to go home."</p>
+
+<p>"And what's that?" asked Phil.</p>
+
+<p>"Just this, kidnappin' that child again, and carryin' of him home to
+his mother."</p>
+
+<p>Phil shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a hard nut to crack," said he. "And I don't see much chance
+myself of your goin' to England now or ever, if it hangs on gettin'
+hold of the baby again. Oh Tad, what a pity you didn't begin your
+runnin' away from home quite by yourself; it's havin' had that baby for
+the one day, as has made all the mischief."</p>
+
+<p>Again Tad was silent. Phil's words were quite true; he knew now how
+very dearly he had paid for that bit of revenge upon his stepmother.
+Once more he was thinking things over, and going back to the very
+beginning—to the wrong start he had made on that Sunday which now
+seemed so very long ago. The events of the last few days had worked a
+change in the boy. He was beginning dimly to see how, from first to
+last, he had been his own enemy, and how he had himself to thank for
+the worst of his misfortunes.</p>
+
+<p>Phil's influence and example too had shown him, more clearly than he
+had ever perceived it before, the difference between right and wrong,
+while it strengthened the affection which he felt for this child, the
+reverence that he could not withhold, when he thought of the courageous
+soul in so frail a form.</p>
+
+<p>By contrasting what he was beginning to know of himself with the
+estimate he had made of Phil's character, he could not help feeling
+what a cowardly, selfish, contemptible sort of a fellow he had been
+throughout.</p>
+
+<p>"It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks," Jeremiah Jackson had
+said, and Tad had proved to his cost how true these words were. Just
+as some kinds of blindness can only be cured by the surgeon's knife,
+so there are some forms of blindness of the soul, for which the Great
+Physician has to use sharp remedies, ere it can see itself as it is,
+and turn repenting to Him Who alone giveth sight to the spiritually
+blind.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a bad lot, I am, Phil!" said the boy at length, after a long
+silence, during which he was taking stock of what he was worth, and
+finding how little it amounted to. "Yes, I'm a bad lot, Phil, more's
+the pity!"</p>
+
+<p>"You've been awfully good and kind to me, Tad," replied Phil, turning
+towards him affectionately, and putting a confiding hand through his
+arm. "Yes, you've been like a brother to me, ever since that day at
+Granville when you give me and the monkey your baked dumplin'. What's
+that you're sayin', Tad dear? Do I love you? Rather! Of course I love
+you true and faithful, dear old man."</p>
+
+<p>Tad gulped down a sob.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't deserve it, Phil, and that's the truth," he said humbly; "but
+if you'll keep on doin' of it, I'll try to deserve it. There! That's a
+bargain!"</p>
+
+<p>"Let's try and help each other to be good!" said Phil simply. "Mother
+used to tell me as how, if we chose, we might always have the Lord on
+our side. And if we did have Him, we was more than a match for any
+enemy. Do you remember that story in the Bible, Tad, about 'Lisha,
+when his enemies came and got all round the place where he was? There
+was chariots and horsemen and a great host—all sent to take that one
+poor feller. No wonder his servant was frightened and said, 'Alas, my
+master, how shall we do?' For thinks he to hisself, 'Here we are—the
+two of us—all by our lone; no one to care for us, nor no one to help
+us, and the enemy down there a-spreadin' hisself like a green baize.'
+Do you call to mind the story, Tad?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; go on, Phil."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Phil, "then what does 'Lisha do but pray to God to open
+the servant's eyes, and the answer to that there prayer must have come
+mighty quick, for all of a sudden, the man saw plain enough what he'd
+never thought of afore—that the mountain was full of chariots and
+horsemen of fire, round about 'Lisha; and that there was more friends
+than enemies; many more for than agen them. But as mother said," added
+Phil, "God's host were there afore the servant's eyes were opened, only
+he didn't know it. And that's how it is with us sometimes. We think
+we're all alone, because we don't see the chariots and horsemen of fire
+round about us, and we don't understand how much we may be helped, if
+we will, nor how ready the Lord is to hear and answer if we pray."</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't wonder if you was right, Phil," said Tad; "howsumdever
+there ain't no 'Lisha nowadays, nor no chariots and horsemen of fire
+to come between old Foxy or Paul and us poor lads—worse luck! And when
+we can't see nothin', it's hard to believe that help's near. But now,
+Phil, I've got a idea, so just you listen and tell me what you think of
+it. Other things bein' equal, we'd like to leave France and get back to
+England, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Phil, "I s'pose so."</p>
+
+<p>"Right so far, then. But you see I can't go back unless I can take the
+kid home with me."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, that's clear enough," assented Phil.</p>
+
+<p>"Well then, here's what I'm a-goin' to propose. Let's go back to them
+tramps, or gipsies, or whatever they are, and ask if they'll let us
+live with them for the present. They're kind people, and if we help
+them all we can, it'll go hard but we'll earn our board and lodgin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" said Phil, feeling that the most important of what Tad had set
+out to say, was unsaid as yet.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," repeated Tad, "my idea was this, that we should stay on with
+them, movin' when and where they did, and livin' their life until—"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, I see what you mean!" cried Phil. "Until Sophie's daughter, Marie,
+came with the baby, and then—"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that's it! Steal the baby again, and cut away," said Tad, "and
+trust to chance for gettin' across the Channel."</p>
+
+<p>But Phil shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said he firmly, "no more stealin' of babies, nor of nothin' else!
+It would be a wicked and ongrateful thing to do to them, as had been
+good to us, and beside I don't hold with bein' so secret and sly."</p>
+
+<p>"But we want to get hold of the child," argued Tad, "and we can't get
+him onless we take him like that."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know; maybe we can," replied Phil; "anyway I'd try fair means
+first. And besides, Marie might remember your face, and know you again,
+and then she'd be extra careful not to give you a chance to steal the
+baby."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd not thought of that," said Tad. "Well, Phil, say that we go back
+to old Sophie and Jacques and their people, and live with them, if
+they'll have us, and anyway, if Marie and the baby come or not, we'll
+have time to look about us and think what we'll do next."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that's a good plan," replied Phil; "we can't do better as I knows
+of. But while we're talkin' of goin' back to the caravan, here we are
+walkin' on, and gettin' further away every minute."</p>
+
+<p>"That's true; come, let's turn now and go back; but as we may chance to
+meet old Foxy, we'd better crawl along in the shadow of the hedge, one
+behind the other, and not talk at all."</p>
+
+<p>This was slow progress, but the only safe course, as they proved very
+soon. For they heard steps approaching along the road, when they had
+gone a part of their return journey, and in the darkness they heard old
+Renard's heavy, shuffling step, and the low muttering in which—like
+Saul of Tarsus, before his conversion—he seemed to be breathing out
+threatening and slaughter, thus pleasantly beguiling the loneliness
+of the way. That he had other and yet more dangerous consolation too,
+was proved beyond all doubt; for almost opposite to the boys, as they
+crouched trembling under the hedge, Renard paused, and they heard a
+cork taken from a bottle, and then deep swallows of drink; probably the
+stimulant in which his soul chiefly delighted; the new and fiery cognac
+which is reckoned among the worst and most harmful of intoxicants.</p>
+
+<p>Having drunk deeply, Foxy passed on.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not until his footfall had ceased to sound upon the hard
+road, that the lads dared to creep from their hiding-place, and resume
+their journey back to the camp.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_15">CHAPTER XV</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>TURNING THE TABLES</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>IT is said, and with truth, that all, or nearly all, wandering races
+are rich in the grace of hospitality, and these French gipsies, or
+rather tramps of a mixed race, had kind hearts, as Tad and Phil proved.</p>
+
+<p>Poor, outcast, homeless creatures as they were, strangers in a strange
+land, these good people had asked of them but few questions, but made
+the boys heartily welcome, giving them permission to continue with the
+troupe so long as it suited them to do so.</p>
+
+<p>Old Jacques had said, furthermore, when he yielded to the earnest
+entreaty of the lads, "Yes, my children, and I accept your offer of
+service. We are not rich, and we cannot afford to keep anyone in
+idleness. You will therefore work as we do, and be one with us in all
+things, subject also to the laws that govern us. For we have our own
+rules which we strictly enforce, and punishment is inflicted upon all
+those who break them."</p>
+
+<p>The boys had readily promised obedience. Any rule, any yoke of service,
+would be light, and even pleasant, after the miseries of their late
+servitude, and now they gladly resolved to be docile, industrious,
+and helpful. Very soon they found they were taken at their word, and
+that there was no want of employment for anyone willing and able. They
+learned the art of basket-making, Phil's slender hands being specially
+clever in this. They made flower-sticks, clothes-pegs, twig-brooms,
+and broom-handles. They caned chairs, mended kitchen furniture for the
+poor people, and did a little rough tinkering. Phil, too, soon proved
+himself a good hand at weaving big rush hats for farm labourers, and
+very proud he was when he could hand over into good mother Sophie's
+care a handful of coppers, the wages of his industry.</p>
+
+<p>Tad, on the other hand, was just as useful in the heavier and rougher
+work, and in the daily routine duties of the camp. He felt it no
+indignity to be a hewer of wood and drawer of water to the kind people
+who had extended towards him and Phil so generous a helping hand in
+their dire distress and destitution.</p>
+
+<p>Ready in all things else to do the gipsies' bidding, the boys had
+begged that they should never be sent on errands that necessitated
+their going any distance alone. They had told Jacques and Sophie
+enough of their story to bespeak the sympathy and protection of the
+good old couple, and to show them that a meeting with Renard, Paul,
+or Jean might prove dangerous to their freedom, and possibly even to
+their lives. So the lads were kept to duties within the precincts
+of the camp; and in the busy, out-of-door life which they led, they
+lost, after a while, all fear of the evil men, the dread of whose
+reappearance had hitherto haunted them like evil phantoms.</p>
+
+<p>For some time they heard nothing more about Marie and her plans. But
+one day Sophie and Jacques were talking together, and Tad heard what
+was said. The gipsies had decided to go on the next day to St. Malo,
+and encamp in a piece of waste ground about half a mile out of the town.</p>
+
+<p>"At the town post-office, a letter from our daughter will probably be
+awaiting us," Sophie had said, "and let us hope she will soon follow
+it, coming by one of the steamers that bring passengers to this port."</p>
+
+<p>The next day the little procession of gipsy vans passed through the
+town, not stopping, however, anywhere until it reached the open space
+where the troupe could encamp without fear of disturbing anyone, or
+being themselves molested.</p>
+
+<p>One morning Tad and Phil were busy helping Sophie and Pelagie with the
+noonday meal. It was not often these gipsies had meat or poultry of any
+kind, but to-day one of the party had bought from a farmer's man, for a
+mere trifle, an antiquated rooster of venerable aspect, and the whole
+company were in high glee at the thought of adding this dainty to the
+usual soup.</p>
+
+<p>But first old chanticleer must be plucked and cleaned, and Tad was set
+to work at this, while Phil helped to wash turnips and carrots, and
+peel onions and potatoes for the pot-au-feu.</p>
+
+<p>Jacques and one or two of the men had gone into the town to call at
+the post-office and make some necessary purchases, and the rest of the
+troupe were employed about the camp in various ways.</p>
+
+<p>It was one of those mild mornings in March which come sometimes,
+closely following a storm of wind and rain, and which give, in their
+balmy freshness and sweetness, promise of the yet fairer time at hand.</p>
+
+<p>Light-hearted as the birds, the boys were chattering over their work,
+breaking out, now and again, into some fragment of English song, when
+a voice behind them said, "Bon jour, mine cheeldren! So I you have
+found at de last, you were naughty boys. Oh unkind and tankless to run
+yourselves away from de good, kind master, from dis poor old Renard dat
+did lofe you so moche!"</p>
+
+<p>The boys started and turned. Tad, in his horror, almost tumbled the
+ancient fowl—now partially denuded of his scant feathers—into the fire,
+and Phil overturned the big basin of water into which he was putting
+his peeled vegetables.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, mine leetle dears!" went on Renard with his evil, sneering smile.
+"You am agitate. It is widout doubt from de joy to see once more you
+dear old master. Ah, truly yes. Well now we am discover one anoder,
+you shall bote come back to me, and all weel be as before, but steel
+better. Oh yes, believe me, mine dears, so moche better."</p>
+
+<p>The lads, paralysed with terror, still said nothing, and just at that
+moment, up came old Sophie and Pelagie to see if the provisions in hand
+were ready yet for the big pot which they had filled at the brook. As
+Sophie approached, Tad made a spring, and falling on his knees before
+her, caught her gown.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh dear mother, good mother Sophie, here is this dreadful man!" he
+cried. "It is he—our master of whom we told you! Give us not up to him!
+For God's sake suffer him not to take us away with him!"</p>
+
+<p>Phil said nothing, but he too had come near, and with pleading eyes
+fixed on the old woman's face, awaited her answer.</p>
+
+<p>She put a motherly hand upon each of the boys, and turning to Renard
+said:</p>
+
+<p>"Surely, monsieur, I have seen you before! Did you not come to us some
+nights ago, on the other side of St. Malo?"</p>
+
+<p>"Madame, you are right," replied Renard, doffing his greasy cap and
+making a low bow which had about it an insulting air of mockery.</p>
+
+<p>"And on that occasion," went on Sophie, "you made inquiry respecting
+two lads?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did so, madame; once more you are entirely right."</p>
+
+<p>"Are these the lads then, monsieur?"</p>
+
+<p>"These are they, madame, sans doute. The eye of love—such love as I
+have for these dear petits garcons—" and Foxy showed his teeth—"is not
+to be deceived."</p>
+
+<p>"What then do you want, monsieur, now you have found them?" asked
+Mother Sophie.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame, you are a stranger to me!" cried Foxy. "You know not—how
+should you?—this heart of mine, or you would not make such an inquiry.
+Unworthy, ungrateful as these children are, I am ready (such is my
+magnanimous nature!) to forgive and receive them back into my affection
+and my service."</p>
+
+<p>"Hein, monsieur! Eh bien!" cried the strident voice of Pelagie, who
+had hitherto stood silent. "But what say the boys to this? You say you
+are willing to have them back; now the question is, are they ready to
+return to you? For there should be two sides to a bargain, monsieur, as
+all the world knows."</p>
+
+<p>"You have reason, Pelagie," said Sophie quietly. "What say you, my
+children?" and the old woman's voice softened, and her face grew tender
+and pitiful, as the lads clung to her in their fear and distress. "What
+say you, will you go with Monsieur Renard, your former master?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, good mother, never! Never again!" cried both boys at once.</p>
+
+<p>Old Sophie turned once more to Foxy.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, monsieur, that these lads do not wish to avail themselves of
+the kindness you offer them, so there is nothing more to be said, and I
+will wish you bon jour, Monsieur Renard."</p>
+
+<p>Renard's face at this lost its mocking grin, and became dark and
+louring.</p>
+
+<p>"And know you not, you stupid gipsy woman," he shrieked, "that I—Jules
+Renard—have a right to these children? And I swear to you—ugly old hag
+that you are—if you give them not up to me this very minute, I will
+bring the police from, the town, and then, not only will the lads have
+to come with me, but you will be punished for detaining them."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Monsieur Renard, if it comes to talk of police, perchance you
+are not the only one who may have somewhat to say," remarked a deep,
+stern voice behind Foxy. And good old Jacques, backed by two of the
+troupe—stalwart nephews of his—appeared on the scene. "Listen, my
+friend; we have information that you, and two worthy companions of
+yours, were more or less concerned in a burglary not very far from
+here, and their names and the home of one of them are known to us. We
+are quiet people, Monsieur Renard, and we seek no quarrel with any; but
+another word from you, another threat against us or these children, and
+at once we give in our information at headquarters at St. Malo. And
+as for your treatment of the boys—there is a law in France to protect
+them, and to punish those who sin against them. Look to yourself, you
+fox by name and fox by nature. Seek not to meddle with these lads, or
+you may find yourself where you would rather not be."</p>
+
+<p>The stern, uncompromising manner and words of the old gipsy seemed to
+make an impression on Renard, who cowered and cringed as the man was
+speaking. But he turned it off lightly, only saying as he turned away:</p>
+
+<p>"That is all nonsense; you could not hurt me if you would. But of
+course I will not press this matter of the boys, if they do not wish to
+return to me. Keep them, if you like to do so, and I wish you joy of
+your bargain. You will repent it some day."</p>
+
+<p>Once more bowing low, cap in hand, and a sardonic leer on his thin
+lips, Renard bade the gipsies good day, while, watching him till out
+of sight on the St. Malo road, Tad and Phil at last dared to breathe
+freely once more.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_16">CHAPTER XVI</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>TAD HARDENS HIS HEART</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"PHIL, Phil, they're just comin'. I'm first, 'cause I ran on before;
+but they're—"</p>
+
+<p>"Who, Tad?" inquired Phil, who was sitting under the shelter of Mother
+Sophie's cart, very busy finishing a huge hat.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, who should it be but Marie and the baby?"</p>
+
+<p>"You don't say!" cried Phil, jumping up.</p>
+
+<p>"You know I went with Father Jacques to St. Malo, this morning,"
+explained Tad. "Well, the chap at the little place on the quay said
+the passengers by the boat 'Princess,' had arrived, and was now in the
+Custom House.</p>
+
+<p>"And says Father Jacques to me, 'My daughter Marie was to come in the
+"Princess." Wait here a moment while I go up to the Custom House.'</p>
+
+<p>"So I waited, and sure enough, the Customs door opened, and out comes
+the woman, and on her arm the little un, growed into quite a big boy,
+and lookin' as though he could run alone as well as me or you."</p>
+
+<p>"Did she see you, Tad?" asked Phil.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I turned sort of sideways so as not to look her in the face.</p>
+
+<p>"But Father Jacques, he calls out to me, 'Here, Edouard, run back to
+the camp and tell the mother we come.'</p>
+
+<p>"So off I goes like a shot, and here I am."</p>
+
+<p>"You've told Mother Sophie?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes, and she and Pelagie set to work to make coffee for Marie. It
+would be tea if we was in England. My eye! Shouldn't I like a good cup
+of tea again!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well now," said Phil, sitting down again to his work, "what do you
+think of doin' about that child?"</p>
+
+<p>"I give it up; ask me another," replied Tad, half vexed, half laughing.
+"Blest if I know what to do! I want to get back to England, and yet I
+can't go home without the child, and—"</p>
+
+<p>"But you won't steal him, will you, Tad?" questioned Phil very
+earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know about that," replied Tad, "can't promise. 'Taint likely
+Marie 'll give up the little chap of her own free will, just when
+she's got used to him and all. No, Phil, nor I don't see no great harm
+neither, in takin' him away. He ain't no property of hers. She stole
+him, and it would only be givin' her tit for tat."</p>
+
+<p>"My mother used to say two wrongs don't make a right, Tad, and after
+all it wasn't Marie who stole him first of all. It was you."</p>
+
+<p>"But I never meant to keep him, you see; I was a-goin' to take him home
+when I'd given his mother one for herself."</p>
+
+<p>"Tad, listen to me," said Phil; "you've been so nice and good and dear
+this long while now, and always done things I asked you, even when they
+was hard. Now do promise me, dear old chap, that you won't do nothin'
+but what's quite straightforward and honest." And Phil looked up in the
+elder boy's face with that wistful entreaty in his eyes which Tad had
+always found it hard to resist.</p>
+
+<p>But he was in a perverse mood to-day. One of his unreasonable, restless
+fits was upon him too, and the thought of some wild, lawless adventure
+was sweet to him. Some lessons Tad had learned from the teachings of
+adversity and from Phil's influence and example, but in many ways he
+was the old self-willed Tad still. No—assuredly he would not allow
+himself to be persuaded into making this promise, for if he did, he
+must keep it, and then—why then some good chance might slip by, and he
+might never get back to England at all.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Phil," he said. "I won't promise; how can I tell what may turn up?
+And I ain't goin' to tie myself in a hard knot for you nor no one. So
+there!"</p>
+
+<p>Phil said no more, but turned away sighing.</p>
+
+<p>The recognition which Tad had tried to avoid was bound to come some
+time, and come it did the very next morning. Marie was strolling about
+the camp field with the child toddling beside her, when she met Tad
+face to face. He cast down his eyes and would have passed on, but she
+stopped him.</p>
+
+<p>"Where have I seen you before, my boy?" she asked in French. But
+suddenly her face changed, she snatched the baby up, and held
+him close. "Ah," she added, "I remember now; yet it seems almost
+impossible."</p>
+
+<p>Still Tad said nothing, and there was a dead silence between them for
+what seemed like a very long while.</p>
+
+<p>"You are English?" said the woman at length.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, missis," replied Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you met me before?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, missis, when—when you stole that there child as you've got in
+your arms. He's my little brother, he is."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe it," said Marie, speaking now in English. "If he'd
+been your brother, you wouldn't have trusted him to a stranger like me,
+or you'd have come back sooner to fetch him."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, anyhow he's my half-brother," said Tad, "and how was I to know
+you was goin' to run off with him? You looked honest enough, and I
+thought you was so."</p>
+
+<p>"Does anyone here know about your bein' the boy that I—I—?"</p>
+
+<p>"No—only my chum, Phil Bates. He knows all about me."</p>
+
+<p>"Not my father and mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no one else."</p>
+
+<p>"Good? Then hold your tongue about it still, and I'll make it worth
+your while," said Marie. "I love the child and he loves me, and I mean
+to bring him up as my own. Has he got a mother livin'?"</p>
+
+<p>"He had, seven months ago," replied Tad, "and I s'pose she ain't dead
+yet. That sort in general makes out to live," added the lad with a
+sniff of disgust.</p>
+
+<p>"And you—how came you here?"</p>
+
+<p>"That story's too long to tell," replied Tad, not over civilly, for he
+was chafed at the woman's manner, and the attitude she had assumed as
+regarded the child.</p>
+
+<p>"And when are you goin' away?" asked Marie.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't know, missis," said Tad, "and what's more I must get to my work
+now." And he turned away and joined Mother Sophie, helping her to scour
+some pots and pans down by the brookside.</p>
+
+<p>The foregoing conversation Tad repeated to Phil that night, adding,
+"Now you see, Phil, what I said was true. A woman like that won't part
+with the little 'un willin' and free, and I'll never get him at all
+unless I take him and French leave at one and the same time. After this
+talk as have passed betwixt me and Marie, what say you now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just what I said afore, Tad. It's no use doin' wrong to bring about
+what we want to happen. Cheatin' and story-tellin' and stealin' and
+deceivin' is wicked, and sooner or later people gets paid out that does
+them things, no matter what the reason is."</p>
+
+<p>"There you go again!" grunted Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"Tad, dear, don't turn away lookin' so vexed. I want to help you; I
+will help you, if you'll let me. Let me have a talk with Marie and
+tell her your story, and how you've been hunted about just because of
+the child. I can't help thinkin' she'll be sorry for you, and let you
+have the little 'un, or what would be better, let you go with her on
+the steamer when she starts for Southampton to go back to her husband.
+Shall I tell—?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's no use, Phil!" cried Tad. "If you'd seen her face to-day when she
+spoke of the baby, you'd never believe she could change."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," persisted Phil, "s'posin' she won't listen to us, still maybe
+Father Jacques and Mother Sophie would. We did a foolish thing, Tad,
+not to say all we knowed, when we heard the old folks tellin' what
+Marie had written in her letter. If we'd spoke of it there and then,
+and they'd heard your story, they'd have been on our side now—maybe."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well," said Tad impatiently, "that's bygones—that is! What's the
+use of thinkin' about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"If Marie don't give up the baby here, she could be made to in
+England," said Phil. "Why don't you write to your dad, as soon as we
+know when she's goin' back? Tell him she's got the child, and he'll
+take care of the rest."</p>
+
+<p>"How stoopid you are, Phil! That ain't all I'm after," said Tad
+crossly. "The baby ain't everything; I want to go back to England
+myself. If Dad got the baby home, he wouldn't care a straw what became
+of me; and that old cat of a stepmother of mine would be glad enough if
+nothin' was never heard of me no more. So you see I might stay here all
+my life. I must take the child myself or be here for good and all."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if Marie will let you have him, that's all right," said Phil;
+"but Tad, dear, don't do nothin' you'll be sorry for after. Remember
+how you told me of such a many things you'd had to make a choice of,
+and you said you'd chose what you thought you'd like best, or what
+seemed easiest, and only see what have come of it! And it was only when
+we made up our minds not to do wrong, that God sort of opened up the
+way afore us, and got us clean away out of old Foxy's clutches. Tad,
+dear, them as tries to do the right thing God always helps, but no one
+can't expect help from Him if he does wrong."</p>
+
+<p>"Shut up with your preachin', Phil!" cried Tad impatiently. "If you was
+a parson and me the congregation, stuck fast in the pews, I'd be bound
+to listen; but you ain't, and I ain't, so hold your noise. The baby's
+my half-brother, not yours; he wasn't stole from you—was he? So it's
+none of your business. I'll do as I choose—I will—so there!"</p>
+
+<p>Tad had never before spoken harshly to his companion, and even as he
+uttered the words, his heart and conscience smote him.</p>
+
+<p>He saw Phil's head droop suddenly, and the thin cheek flush and pale
+again. He even thought he heard a half-suppressed sob, when the little
+fellow turned away without another word.</p>
+
+<p>But like Pharaoh of old, he hardened his heart, muttering, "What if he
+be hurt a bit! Sarve him right for meddlin' with what don't consarn
+him."</p>
+
+<p>Then he went off to his work of hobbling the horses for the night, at
+the other end of the field, and nothing more passed between him and
+Phil, nor did they see each other again till morning.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_17">CHAPTER XVII</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>AGAINST THE PRICKS</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>SOME days passed, and meanwhile Tad's idea of running off with the
+child secretly was so much in his mind, unresisted, unchecked, that
+at last it became a distinct purpose for which he began once more to
+plot and plan. The foolishness and the utter recklessness of such a
+proceeding were lost sight of in his great desire to accomplish what
+he had at heart, namely his return to England and the restoration of
+the baby to its mother, by way of securing safety and a welcome for
+himself. The difficulties and dangers he did not take into account
+because he would not. Obstinately bent upon carrying out his idea, he
+made everything else yield; he was even prepared to part from Phil,
+rather than give up his purpose.</p>
+
+<p>We have seen that during the time of the worst of the troubles that
+had befallen the boys, Tad's heart had softened, his character had
+improved. But the great change by which all things are made new, had
+not yet come into the boy's soul. Self-will still ruled there, and it
+would need a yet sharper lesson ere the altar of this idol could be
+thrown down, and its sceptre broken.</p>
+
+<p>Since the day when Phil's remonstrance and appeal had called forth
+those cruel words from Tad, the younger boy had not ventured to mention
+the subject. But he had gone about with a heavy heart and a sad face,
+for he loved Tad dearly, and the estrangement between them hurt him
+sorely.</p>
+
+<p>He was anxious, too, for he could see plainly enough by the sullen,
+brooding look in Tad's face, that he had by no means relinquished
+his idea, but was only considering how best to work it out. Phil did
+not know what to do. He could not bear the thought of acting the
+tale-bearer, of going to Marie and warning her against his friend.
+Still less could he entertain the idea of saying anything to Jacques
+and Sophie. So that, between disloyalty to Tad on the one hand, and
+disloyalty to their kind friends on the other, Phil was indeed in
+straits—and very sore straits for a child of his years. He could only
+hope that the time of Marie's departure would come soon, and that
+meanwhile Tad would have no chance to carry off Baby Victor, as his
+gipsy mother called him.</p>
+
+<p>One morning about a week later, Marie received a letter from her
+husband, who announced his intention of coming over to fetch her. He
+said he should be sailing in a little vessel belonging to a friend, and
+he hoped to be at St. Malo shortly. He intended, he said, to spend a
+day or two with his father and mother-in-law, and then take his wife
+and the child back to England in the same boat that had brought him.</p>
+
+<p>"I must go to meet my husband to-night, mother," said Marie, two days
+later; "the boat is sure to be in."</p>
+
+<p>"I will go with thee," replied Sophie, "and thou, Jacques?"</p>
+
+<p>"I go too, of course," said the old man.</p>
+
+<p>"Wilt thou take the child, Marie?" inquired Sophie.</p>
+
+<p>"No, mother, I hardly think it would be well to do so. Poor Victor has
+seemed very feverish and languid these last days, and the night air
+would be bad for him. I will put him to bed before I go, and he will
+then sleep, I hope, and so will not miss me."</p>
+
+<p>"Pelagie will attend to him should he cry," said Sophie, "but I daresay
+he will sleep soundly till thy return."</p>
+
+<p>Phil did not overhear this conversation, but Tad happened to be at work
+close by, and heard every word.</p>
+
+<p>"This is goin' to be my chance!" he said to himself. "For once in a way
+I'm in luck, but I'll not tell Phil or he'd spoil all the fun."</p>
+
+<p>During the time that had gone by since first he meditated flight with
+the baby, Tad had contrived to scrape together a little money. Now
+and again, when in the town with Jacques, he had earned a sou or two,
+holding horses or carrying boxes and parcels from the wharf, or running
+errands, and the coppers he received Jacques allowed him to keep for
+himself. So that he had about a franc and twenty-five centimes, as
+nearly as possible one shilling of our money.</p>
+
+<p>At dinner that day he asked for more bread, and hid a big hunch away
+in his pocket. This was all the preparation that he could make for his
+journey, and blindly, obstinately, set upon his own way he must indeed
+have been, to think of undertaking it so poorly equipped. But there is
+no limit to the foolhardiness of self-will, when once it has, like a
+runaway horse, got the bit between its teeth; and so was it now with
+poor Tad's besetting sin.</p>
+
+<p>As evening approached, circumstances favoured the lad's design, for
+Phil was called by one of the men to accompany him to a neighbouring
+hamlet with baskets to sell, and Pelagie occupied herself with
+preparing supper contained in the usual big pot, into which she was
+shredding herbs of many kinds. For now the wild green plants were
+coming up with tender shoots, and none knew better than the gipsy woman
+which of them lent an appetising flavour to the soup.</p>
+
+<p>"Here, Edouard," said she to Tad, who was loafing about and watching
+his chance. "Step into Marie's waggon, will you, and look at the child.
+If he seems restless or uneasy, take him up and rock him gently in your
+arms till he is quiet. You can stay with him, for I do not need your
+help here. Go then at once; I shall be more at ease if I know you are
+with him."</p>
+
+<p>Tad, with an eagerness which he tried to hide, turned to obey. He
+entered the waggon where his little half-brother was fast asleep, and
+stood looking at him a moment by the light of a tiny lamp fixed into a
+brass socket on one of the walls of the cart.</p>
+
+<p>The little fellow's cheeks were scarlet, and through the parted lips
+the breath came in a quick, irregular way which was not natural.</p>
+
+<p>"Ought I to take him when he ain't quite well?" thought Tad; but once
+more his great desire conquered all conscientious scruples. "It's now
+or never," he muttered.</p>
+
+<p>And having made up his mind, he looked all round for some warm wrap in
+which to enfold the little fellow. Presently he saw a large, dark cloak
+of Marie's hanging from a nail. This he reached down, lifted the baby
+very cautiously, and throwing the cloak over him, even covering the
+face, he stepped out of the cart, peering round suspiciously for fear
+someone might be watching.</p>
+
+<p>It was already dusk, and another of the waggons stood between him and
+Pelagie, screening him from view. The rest of the troupe were scattered
+in various directions. No one was near but Pelagie, and she was
+preoccupied with her cooking.</p>
+
+<p>A few long, stealthy strides and Tad had reached the road. Here he
+paused a moment, looking this way and that, screened by some bushes;
+but no one was in sight.</p>
+
+<p>"Now for Granville and England!" he said to himself, and gathering the
+living bundle closer in his arms, he set off at a quick walk in an
+opposite direction from that which led to St. Malo. He had before him a
+long tramp, he knew, for Granville was nearly sixteen miles away.</p>
+
+<p>What he was to do when he got there was not very easy to determine, but
+what he hoped for was to find Jeremiah Jackson and his "Stormy Petrel,"
+and get a free passage over to Southampton. He had no idea, however,
+how often the skipper made his voyages, and therefore he knew he might
+have to wait a long time. But he had not considered how the baby and he
+were to live while thus waiting. Self-will is generally short-sighted,
+and does not take into account possible consequences, when following
+its own headlong course.</p>
+
+<p>The baby's weight, Tad soon found, was far greater now than it had
+been on that memorable Sunday nearly seven months ago. And the pace
+at which the runaway started to-night from the gipsy camp slowed down
+perforce after a while. By this time the night had closed in, and Tad
+was thankful for the darkness which hid this last evil deed of his.
+For now that the first excitement was over, he was beginning to feel
+that the deed was indeed evil. And as he trudged along, carrying the
+thrice-kidnapped child, he gradually realised to some extent what he
+was doing, and what a heavy price he was paying for his own way.</p>
+
+<p>Again before him, in the mirror of memory, rose the earnest, patient
+face of little Phil whom he had so disloyally deserted. Again he saw
+the look of pain which his own cruel words had called into those
+wistful eyes, those sensitive lips. Yes, he had lost Phil, dearly
+though they had loved each other, bitterly though they had suffered
+together. Then too, how had he requited dear old Mother Sophie and
+Father Jacques for all their kindness? Yes—they too were now among the
+losses which he had that night sustained. These true friends lost; and
+all for what?</p>
+
+<p>Poor Tad was obliged to confess to himself that he had precious little
+to show in exchange. True he had gratified his self-will, but so far
+the gratification was of a decidedly qualified character. He was
+growing very tired, and so hungry that he was obliged to stop and take
+out his piece of bread to munch as he went along. Then, too, the child
+had begun to wail piteously in a hoarse voice that frightened him, and
+Granville was still nine miles off.</p>
+
+<p>But for the demon Pride which kept whispering in his ear, the lad
+would have turned back even now to the camp; but he told himself that
+he could not bear to return to his friends confessing himself in the
+wrong. No, he felt he must go on now, having, by this last act of his,
+cut himself adrift from all who had befriended him.</p>
+
+<p>All night Tad walked on, but in the morning he got a lift in a light
+cart that was going in to an early market at Granville. Worn and jaded
+and utterly disheartened, he and his now slumbering charge were driven
+into the town.</p>
+
+<p>"The brat is a-goin' to be ill, I do believe," said Tad, peering down
+into the little flushed face lying against his shoulder. "Just like my
+luck!"</p>
+
+<p>"Had you not better take him to a doctor?" said the driver of the cart.
+"There is one living in this street, and he is very kind to the poor;
+he is sure not to charge you anything."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you; then I will," replied Tad.</p>
+
+<p>And the man set him down at the doctor's door. Early as was the hour,
+quite a number of people were waiting to see the doctor, so it was some
+time before Tad's turn came. But it came at last, and the baby was
+unwrapped and examined.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur the doctor," said Tad, "will you please tell me if the child
+will be all right directly, for I want to take him to England very
+soon."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor looked up incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>"To England?" he repeated. "No indeed, my boy, he must go no further
+than Granville Hospital. I tell you the little one is very ill; he has
+got inflammation of the lungs, and you may be very thankful if he pulls
+through at all!"</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_18">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>JEREMIAH TO THE RESCUE</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"THEN all that I've done is wuss than lost," said Tad to himself as
+he walked slowly away from the hospital where he had left his little
+brother. "I've run away on the sly and walked all night; I've carried
+off a sick child as can't be no good to me; I've broke with Phil and
+with the gipsies; and all for what? To stay here and starve in the
+streets while maybe the child dies in the hospital, and if he do die,
+why then good-bye to any home-goin' at all. Just my luck I can't seem
+to compass nothing at all, I can't."</p>
+
+<p>That night he slept under an old boat which was turned on its side
+awaiting repairs on the shore, above high-water mark. A more unhappy
+lad it would have been hard to find under God's great canopy of sky
+than Tad when he awoke next morning, cold, hungry, with a remorseful
+conscience and an anxious heart. After buying a small loaf of bread
+which was to last him all day, he walked down to the quay, which he had
+good cause to remember, for it was here he had first met Renard. But
+the thought of old Foxy was not uppermost in his mind as he sauntered
+round, looking idly about him at the varied shipping, and at the busy
+crowd loading and unloading the vessels. His wretched experiences
+with his late master seemed to him now something very remote, almost
+forgotten in the nearness of his more recent troubles.</p>
+
+<p>So much absorbed was Tad in his own miserable reflections, and the
+utter collapse of every plan he had made, that he started like one
+awakened out of sleep, when a long, claw-like hand grasped his arm,
+and a well-known, hateful voice said almost in his ear, "Ah, bon jour,
+mine dear cheeile! So I you have found at de last!" And a grin of evil
+triumph made even uglier and more repulsive than ever Renard's wicked
+face. Tad started as though from some noxious reptile. All the memories
+of his sufferings and those of Phil at the hands of this man rushed
+upon him with overwhelming force, and he gazed into Renard's green
+eyes, fascinated and speechless.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, ma foi!" chuckled Foxy. "Only to tink! Dis dear boy is so please
+to see his old master, dat he find not word to speak."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a lie! I ain't pleased!" cried Tad, finding voice at last. "You
+know very well I'm nothin' of the kind. I hate you, that I do! Let me
+go!" And he tried to wrench his arm from old Foxy's clutch.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh fie! Fie! Wat naughty tempers have dis dear cheeile!" sighed Renard
+as he tightened his hold. "Come wid me, mine friend; you shall once
+again be educate in de college of Monsieur Renard. Widout doubt your
+jours de fête—wat you call holiday—find demselves too long. Now you
+weel work."</p>
+
+<p>And old Foxy began to drag his unwilling prisoner along, trying to get
+him away from the quay and into the town.</p>
+
+<p>Tad did what he could to free himself from the man's hold, but all to
+no purpose. As well might a fly try to win clear when a spider has hold
+of him.</p>
+
+<p>The people they met took no heed of him. It was nothing uncommon to see
+a struggle or even a fight going on here, and nobody interfered; so Tad
+was almost in despair, when suddenly he caught sight of something that
+gave him energy and courage.</p>
+
+<p>There, standing on the deck of a trim little vessel drawn close
+up to the quay, was a burly form surmounted by a bluff; honest,
+weather-beaten face and a shaggy mass of red hair and beard.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Captain Jackson!" shrieked the lad. "Save me! Save me! Foxy's got
+me again!" And he stretched out his one free arm in passionate entreaty.</p>
+
+<p>The worthy Jeremiah leaped on shore and met Renard face to face.
+"What's up?" said he. "What's the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"De matter, Monsieur Jeremie," replied Renard in honeyed tones, "is dat
+dis poor boy did run away from his kind master, and now he come back,
+and all weel be well again."</p>
+
+<p>"Never, never!" cried Tad. "Don't believe him, please, captain! He's
+the awfullest liar that ever was. Please, sir, look at me; don't you
+call to mind a boy you picked up in a open boat at sea, and how good
+you was to me? You wanted me to go back with you to England, and I'd
+near made up my mind to it, when old Foxy here come down with Phil
+Bates, and coaxed me into goin' along of him. And after that, me and my
+chum was starved and beaten and ill-treated, and at last, roust of all,
+we—"</p>
+
+<p>"Weel you be quaite, Edouard?" hissed Renard, giving the boy's arm a
+violent jerk. "If you hold not your peace," he added in a whisper, "I
+weel keel you."</p>
+
+<p>"I remember you very well, Teddie Poole," said Jeremiah. "So you don't
+want to return to the man's service, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, no indeed!" cried Tad. "Save me from him! Do save me,
+captain!"</p>
+
+<p>The bluff, good-humoured face looked very grave and stern as Jeremiah
+Jackson turned once more to Renard.</p>
+
+<p>"Unhand that lad, Renard!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Ma foi! And why, Monsieur Jeremie?" inquired Foxy. "You have not de
+right to say, 'Do dis and dat.'"</p>
+
+<p>"It's no use bullyin' and blusterin', you parley-vooin' scoundrel!"
+said Jackson stoutly. "Unhand that lad, or I'll tell the world here
+what I know. If once all Granville heard that you—"</p>
+
+<p>"Enough! Hush, oh hush, Monsieur Jeremie, mine good, dear friend!"
+whispered Renard, looking round furtively to see if Jackson's rather
+too plain speaking had been overheard. "It is one leetle joke; say
+notting more. I am only delight to do you oblige, and if you desire
+dat I let go dis cheeile, behold I cede heem widout unpleasant. Good
+morning, Edouard; bon jour to you too, Monsieur Jeremie."</p>
+
+<p>And loosening his hold on Tad, the Frenchman bowed low, cap in hand,
+and shuffled off towards the town.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_19">CHAPTER XIX</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>FAITHFUL PHIL</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"COME you down into my cabin and tell me what's happened since you
+bolted from the 'Stormy Petrel' with that sneakin' rascal." And the
+honest sailor shook his huge fist at the retreating form of old Renard.</p>
+
+<p>Then Tad followed the skipper into the tiny cabin, and there over
+a good breakfast told his story; told it exactly as things had
+happened—the whole truth without reserve. It was a relief now to
+disburden his heavy heart of what was oppressing him so sorely, and to
+ask for the advice and help of which he stood so urgently in need.</p>
+
+<p>"You want to know what I think you'd best do?" asked Jeremiah as Tad
+finished his narrative.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, and whatever you says now, I promise to do it," replied poor
+Tad. "All along I've been tryin' to choose and to get what I liked
+best, and I've done nothin' but kick agen pricks, just as you said to
+me. You see, I haven't forgot, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Teddie Poole, things bein' as they are, and you in a pretty bad
+fix, my counsel to you is to send word by letter to the woman you call
+Marie that the kid is in hospital here, and also to write to your chum
+Phil as how you're sorry and all that, for what you done. And then—"</p>
+
+<p>"Please, is this boat the 'Stormy Petrel,' and is Captain Jeremiah
+Jackson here?" called a sweet boyish voice down the companion way.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, if that ain't Phil hisself!" cried Tad. "I'd know his voice in
+a thousand!" And jumping from his seat, he scrambled up on deck, and
+rushed straight into Phil's arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh Phil, dear Phil, is it really you? And can you ever forgive me—me
+that have been so bad?" whispered Tad brokenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, dear old man; I know the temptation was a big one to you, and
+what you done's all forgiven—be sure of that."</p>
+
+<p>"But how did you find me?" inquired Tad.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I knowed what you'd always thought of doin'," answered Phil, "and
+so we come straight here to Granville in one of the house-waggons, and
+I ran down to the quay to see if I could find the 'Stormy Petrel,'
+feelin' sure you'd make for her if she was in port. But Tad," continued
+Phil, "where's baby Victor? Is he down in the cabin? Marie's here, half
+mad at losin' him."</p>
+
+<p>Tad's face fell.</p>
+
+<p>"He's very ill, Phil; he's had to be took to the hospital; his chest is
+awful bad, I'm afeared."</p>
+
+<p>At this Phil turned away from his friend, and stepped off the boat on
+to the quay to tell Marie this sad news, for she was standing there
+waiting to hear about the child. The tears welled up in her dark eyes
+as Phil spoke, but she said nothing, only glancing reproachfully
+towards Tad ere she turned and went into the town, bending her steps
+towards the hospital where the little one was lying.</p>
+
+<p>While Tad stood sadly watching her out of sight, he presently saw
+coming slowly along by the water side good old Mother Sophie. Leaping
+on shore, he ran to meet her.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear Mother Sophie," he cried, "I have been the most wicked, thankless
+boy that ever lived, to leave you as I did, after all your goodness.
+But I am sorry, and oh, I—"</p>
+
+<p>"If you are sorry for having made us so anxious, child, I pardon you.
+But tell me, Edouard, where is baby Victor?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is in the hospital, and his life is in danger I fear, dear mother."</p>
+
+<p>"My poor Marie!" sighed the old woman. "She loves Victor so well, and
+her heart would break were he to die. It will be hard enough anyway to
+part from him, even if he gets well."</p>
+
+<p>Tad turned in amazement to Phil, who had followed him as he went to
+meet Mother Sophie.</p>
+
+<p>"Part from him—if he gets well?" said he. "What does that mean, Phil?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only that I have told Marie, and Father Jacques, and Mother Sophie the
+whole story," replied Phil, "so now they all know the truth about you
+and baby. Marie didn't want to give up the child, if once she managed
+to get him back from you, but her parents wouldn't hear of her keepin'
+him, after what I'd told them, so if he gets better, you and he and
+Marie 'll go back to England together if you like."</p>
+
+<p>Tad was silent for a minute.</p>
+
+<p>"Then maybe if I'd told the whole truth to the good people at the
+beginning, as you begged me to, Phil," he said at last, "I might have
+got my way without runnin' off with the child at all, and p'raps he
+wouldn't have been so ill neither."</p>
+
+<p>Phil made no answer to this. What indeed could he say?</p>
+
+<p>But Tad went on, "I say, Phil, what a fool I've been for my pains!
+Captain Jackson was right about kickin' agen the pricks, for here I've
+took lots of trouble to go crooked, just to find myself wuss off than
+if I'd gone straight, to say nothin' of makin' no end of bother for
+others."</p>
+
+<p>"But now, Edouard," put in Mother Sophie, who understood no English,
+and had no idea what Tad was talking about, "now, Edouard, what do you
+intend to do? Will you return with your friend the captain this voyage,
+or—"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, dear Mother Sophie," answered Tad, "I will not go until baby
+is better and can go too. You know I couldn't go home without him."</p>
+
+<p>"Here you, Teddie Poole!" called Jeremiah from the deck of his
+schooner. "I want to speak to you!"</p>
+
+<p>And Tad ran back quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you go home with us in a few days' time, boy?" inquired the
+captain. "Or would you rather wait till I come again? I expect to be
+back here in about three weeks, if all be well, and I'll take you and
+your friends over then if you like. No, don't thank me, my lad!" he
+added, as Tad gratefully accepted his second offer. "No need for more
+words about it. It's only my dooty as a man and a Christian, and it's a
+pleasure into the bargain. And, praise the Lord, the boat's my own, and
+I've no one's leave to ask."</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_20">CHAPTER XX</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b>THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THE days passed, and Marie returned from her daily visits to the
+hospital, bringing no better reports.</p>
+
+<p>"But for that long night of exposure to the cold, damp air, baby Victor
+would never have been so ill," she had said reproachfully to Tad; "and
+now, through you and your headstrong folly, this precious little life
+will most likely be lost. You do not deserve to have a brother."</p>
+
+<p>Tad did not resent Marie's hard words. He knew he merited them richly,
+and he did not attempt to excuse or defend himself. Truly repentant and
+humble as he had become, he could not undo the grievous consequences of
+his sin. So he meekly listened to the woman's reproaches, which he felt
+came from a very sore heart, and were none the less sharp and bitter
+for that.</p>
+
+<p>At last there came a time when the doctors said that the little one's
+life hung, as it were, on a thread, and there was hardly a chance that
+he could recover. And when poor Marie brought back this news, Tad felt
+that now his cup of misery and of punishment was full indeed.</p>
+
+<p>If the child died, he would feel, all his life long, like a murderer,
+and go through the world as with the brand of Cain upon his brow.</p>
+
+<p>Towards evening of that day, Phil found him sitting in an
+out-of-the-way corner, quite overwhelmed with trouble.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't bear it, Phil!" he sobbed. "For baby to be took and me left is
+too dreadful; me, too, that nobody cares for and nobody wants!"</p>
+
+<p>For all answer Phil nestled close to his friend, and passed a loving
+arm round his neck. He felt that such trouble as this could not be
+comforted by mere words, but he also felt that for every burdened heart
+comfort might be found where he—Phil—had often found it before during
+his sad young life.</p>
+
+<p>The place where the lads were sitting was quiet and solitary enough,
+and the darkness was fast stealing on, softly shadowing earth and sky.</p>
+
+<p>By his friend's side Phil knelt, still with an arm round Tad's neck,
+and then the boy's tender sympathy and loving pity found a voice in
+fervent prayer to Him Who on earth healed the sick with a word or a
+touch, and raised the dead, and forgave the sins of those who had gone
+astray.</p>
+
+<p>For the little life now trembling in the balance, Phil wrestled with
+cries and tears. For forgiveness for the past, for help in time to
+come, for strength to do the right whatever might happen—the childish
+voice, broken by sobs, rose in passionate supplication, thrilling
+Tad's heart through and through with the consciousness of some unseen
+Presence, and bringing back to his memory words long forgotten,
+"'Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not.'"</p>
+
+<p>With hands close clasped, and streaming eyes lifted towards the sky,
+the awe-struck lad gazed and gazed, half fearing to see, half expecting
+some visible sign to appear in the dark heavens above him, in answer to
+that urgent cry for help.</p>
+
+<p>Once more the sweet, plaintive voice broke, sending forth sobbingly the
+words, so touching in their simplicity,—</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Dear Lord, Thou knows all we want to say and can't. Do it for us; Thou
+can, and Thou art willin', that we know, cos Thou said so. Send us a
+answer of peace, for Thy own sake, Amen."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>Then there was silence; both boys felt that the place whereon they
+knelt was holy ground, and neither could bear to break the solemn hush.
+Hand in hand, and nearer in heart than they had ever been before, the
+lads went back to the cart.</p>
+
+<p>The matron of the children's ward in the hospital at Granville, seeing
+Marie's great anxiety, had allowed her to have access to the child
+whenever she liked. And when the boys returned to the house-waggon,
+they found that she had not yet got back from her evening visit.</p>
+
+<p>In almost unbearable suspense they sat there on the short turf, waiting
+for the news which they so dreaded and yet longed for. Not a word had
+been spoken between them as yet. Tad was seated leaning eagerly forward
+to catch the first glimpse of Marie on her way home. Phil lay at full
+length, as though exhausted, his pale face upturned, his eyes closed.
+Suddenly he sat up, his eyes radiant in the moonlight, a smile upon his
+lips.</p>
+
+<p>"He heard us, Tad! He heard us!" whispered the boy. "It's all right!
+Hark! There she comes!"</p>
+
+<p>Tad listened, and heard a light, quick step speeding along, joyful
+relief in every footfall. II was Marie returning. Both lads sprang to
+their feet, and ran to meet her.</p>
+
+<p>"All is well, thank God!" cried the woman as she saw them. "The doctors
+say he will live."</p>
+
+<p>And she passed on to the van to awaken her mother with the joyful
+tidings, while the boys, left together, crept away, and from glad
+hearts sent up to heaven the voice of praise and thanksgiving.</p>
+
+<p>With the young, recovery is often a very rapid thing, and that of
+Marie's adopted child was no exception to this rule.</p>
+
+<p>By the time the "Stormy Petrel" returned to Granville, the little one
+was well enough to be out for hours in the warm, bright sun, and to
+bear the voyage home.</p>
+
+<p>Jacques and Sophie would have been glad to keep Phil with them always,
+for he had greatly endeared himself to them by his unselfishness and
+gentle ways. But Tad and he could not bear to be parted, and Jeremiah
+Jackson had held out a hope to the boys that he might give them both
+a berth on board of his vessel, if they found, on their return to
+England, that they could find nothing better to do.</p>
+
+<p>So one lovely afternoon, in full spring, Marie and the baby, Tad, and
+Phil, took leave of the kind gipsies, and going on board the trim
+little schooner, glided out into the crimson sunset, with a fair wind
+and all sail set.</p>
+
+<p>Marie's husband had gone back to England two weeks before, being unable
+to wait till the baby was well enough to travel. A letter had been
+written to James Poole, and sent to the address of Tad's former home,
+whence it had been forwarded to the new house, near Southampton, to
+which the Pooles had recently moved. To this letter Tad's father had
+sent a kind reply, promising to meet the voyagers on arrival.</p>
+
+<p>Marie had at first intended herself to take the baby to his home,
+accompanying Tad thither. But on learning that James Poole was to
+meet his children, and remembering, too, that in stealing the baby on
+that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday evening, all those months ago, she
+had exposed herself to a serious risk, and indeed to the certainty of
+punishment by English law, she thought she had better not show herself
+at all to the child's father, but find her way to her husband's people
+as quickly as possible.</p>
+
+<p>Of the parting between Marie and her adopted child we need not
+say much, but sad as it was, she went through it with courage and
+determination.</p>
+
+<p>James Poole, as was expected, met the voyagers at Southampton, and Tad
+was surprised to see how much softened and how gentle his father's face
+and manner had become. When Tad introduced Phil, James Poole greeted
+the boy very kindly, and cordially invited him home.</p>
+
+<p>The Pooles had a nice roomy cottage just out of town, and on the way
+there, Tad's father told him that Mrs. Poole had been a great invalid
+for four months and more, and quite unable to do any work about the
+house, so that life had been very hard for all. He said that Nell and
+Bert were well, and good children on the whole, but running rather
+wild for want of looking after, and that Mr. Scales the grocer, Tad's
+former employer, had quite recently written to inquire after his late
+shop-boy, saying that since Tad left, he had been unable to find a lad
+to suit him.</p>
+
+<p>On reaching home, it was a sad sight to see Mrs. Poole lying on a couch
+quite helpless, dependent upon an old woman who came every morning to
+do the work of the house. But on seeing her baby boy and receiving him
+into her arms again, the poor mother was so full of joy and content and
+thankfulness, that the look of suffering passed from her face, and Tad
+thought he should not be surprised if she got well after all.</p>
+
+<p>In the general rejoicing, no one thought of scolding or blaming the
+runaway lad, and all listened eagerly while he told his adventures.</p>
+
+<p>Phil too was made much of, and when, in relating his story, Tad told
+also not sparing nor excusing himself—how Phil had been his good angel,
+his loving, faithful friend, ever since they had first met, there
+was not a dry eye in all that little company. And James Poole wrung
+the little slender hand in his strong palm, Nell and Bert hugged him
+round the neck, and Mrs. Poole patted his head and called him a dear
+good lad, till he felt quite shy, for he had never been used to much
+kindness or attention.</p>
+
+<p>Presently, when the little ones had gone to bed, Mrs. Poole asked Tad
+to come and sit down by her, and when he did so, she said:</p>
+
+<p>"Tad, dear, God has taught me a many lessons since you left home all
+them months ago. First there was losin' my baby, and afterwards this
+illness that came of a fall. But Tad, it wasn't until I began to miss
+my little one, that I called to mind how you and Nell and Bert had
+never ceased to miss your mother, and how I never so much as tried to
+fill her place. And it wasn't till I was laid aside, and needed to have
+people tender and patient with me, that I remembered I'd never been
+tender and patient with the poor chil'en I was stepmother to. But now,
+dear boy, you've come home again, and me and your father we'll both try
+and make it real home to you, so as it shan't never no more come into
+your head and heart to run away. Kiss me, Tad, and call me mother, for
+that's what—God helpin' me—I mean to be to you always."</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>And now we can say good-bye to Tad the kidnapper, feeling quite sure
+that never again will he deserve this name.</p>
+
+<p>How he went back to his duties at the grocer's shop, living in Mr.
+Scales' house all the week, and returning home for Sunday; how he
+gradually rose in his employer's confidence to a position of trust and
+of usefulness; how Phil, after a short sojourn with the Pooles, began
+to pine for something to do, and accepted Jeremiah Jackson's offer of
+a berth as cabin boy aboard the "Stormy Petrel"; how Marie, by special
+invitation, came every now and then to see baby Victor, (as she still
+called him); and how God sent her at last a little baby boy of her very
+own to comfort her heart; all this we need only just mention, for our
+story has been told to show that the getting of our own way does not
+always mean happiness or prosperity.</p>
+
+<p>And since poor Tad Poole had learned this lesson, perhaps we who have
+followed him step by step in his adventurous career have learned it too.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p>Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON &amp; CO., Edinburgh</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74793 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+