"How much money have you got saved up?" The light of hatred in the man's eyes gave place, for the time being, to the light of greed.

"About thirty-two dollars."

"Well, give it to me, then, and be quick about it!"

Ralph went to a small closet built into the wall over the chimney, and took from it a little box.

That box contained his acc.u.mulated savings. With a large portion of the money he had thought to buy new clothing for himself. He had determined that he would not go to live with Mrs. Burnham, dressed like a beggar. He would have clothes befitting his station in life.

Indeed, he and Uncle Billy were to have gone out the day before to make the necessary purchases; but since the change came the matter had not been thought of. Now he should pay it to Simon Craft as the price of his freedom. He was willing and more than willing to do so. He would have given all he ever hoped to earn to save himself from that man's custody, and would have considered it a cheap release.

He took the money from the box,--it was all paper money,--and counted it carefully out into Old Simon's trembling hand. There were just thirty-two dollars.

"Is that all?" said Craft, folding the bills and putting them into an inside pocket as he spoke.

"Yes, that's all."

"You haven't got any more hidden around the house anywhere, have you?

Don't lie to me, now!"

"Oh, no! I've given you ev'ry cent I had, ev'ry single cent."

"Well, then, get your hat and come along."

"Wh--what?" Ralph was staring at the man in astonishment. He thought he had just bought his freedom, and that he need not go.

"Get your hat and come along, I say; and be quick about it? I can't wait here all day."

"Where--where to?"

"Why, home with me, of course. Where would I take you?"

"But I gave you the money to let me stay here with Uncle Billy; you said you would take it for that."

"No, I didn't. I told you to give it to me. The money belongs to me the same as you do. Now, are you coming, or do you want me to help you?"

Ralph's face was white with indignation. He had been willing to do what was right. He thought he had made a fair bargain; but now, this--this was an outrage. His spirit rose against it. The old sense of fearlessness took possession of him. He looked the man squarely in the eyes. His voice was firm and his hands were clenched with resolution. "I will not go with you," he said.

"What's that?" Craft looked down on the boy in astonishment.

"I say I will not go with you," repeated Ralph; "that's all--I won't go."

Then the old man's wrath was let loose.

"You beggar!" he shouted, "how dare you disobey me! I'll teach you!"

He raised his cane threateningly as he spoke.

"Hit me," said Ralph, "kill me if you want to; I'd ruther die than go back to live with you."

Old Simon grasped his cane by its foot and raised it above his head. In another instant it would have descended on the body of the unfortunate boy; but in that instant some one seized it from behind, wrenched it from Craft's weak grasp, and flung it into the street.

It was Bachelor Billy; He had entered at the open door unseen. He seized Craft's shoulders and whirled him around till the two men stood face to face.

"Mon!" he exclaimed, "mon! an' yon steck had a-fallen o' the lad's head, I dinna ken what I s'ould 'a' done till ye. Ye're lucky to be auld an' sick, or ye s'ould feel the weight o' ma han' as it is."

But Craft was not subdued. On the contrary his rage grew more fierce.

"What's the boy to you?" he shouted, savagely. "You leave us alone. He belongs to me; he shall go with me."

It was a full half-minute before Bachelor Billy's dull mind grasped the situation. Meanwhile he was looking down into Ralph's white face.

Then he turned again to Craft.

"Never!" he said, solemnly. "Ye s'all never tak' 'im. I'll see the lad in his grave first." After a moment he continued, "It's no' safe for ye to stay longer wi' us; it's better ye s'ould go."

Then another man entered at the open door. It was the sheriff of Luzerne County. He held the writ of _habeas corpus_ in his hand.

"Why didn't you wait for me," he said, turning angrily to Craft, "instead of coming here to pick a quarrel with these people?"

"That's none of your business," replied the old man. "You've got your writ, now do your duty or I'll--" A fit of coughing attacked him, and he dropped into a chair to give way to it.

The sheriff looked at him contemptuously for a moment, then he turned to Bachelor Billy.

"This miserable old man," he said, "has had a writ of _habeas corpus_ issued, commanding you to produce immediately before the judge at Wilkesbarre the body of the boy Ralph. It is my place to see that the writ is properly executed. There's no help for it, so I think you had better get ready, and we will go as soon as possible." And he handed to Bachelor Billy a copy of the writ.

"I ha' no time to read it," said Billy, "but if the judge says as the lad s'ould gae to court again, he s'all gae. We mus' obey the law. An'

I s'all gae wi' 'im. Whaur the lad gae's I s'all gae. I s'all stay by 'im nicht an' day. If the law says he mus' live wi' Seemon Craft, then I s'all live wi' Seemon Craft also. I ha' nursit 'im too long, an'

lovit 'im too weel to turn 'im alone into the wolfs den noo."

In a minute or two Craft recovered, but the coughing had left him very weak. He rose unsteadily to his feet and looked around for his cane.

He had grown calm. He thought that the game was his at any rate, and that it was of no use for him to lose strength over it. "You'll walk faster than I," he said, "so I'll be going. If I miss this train I can't get started to Philadelphia with the boy before to-morrow." He tottered out into the road, picked up his cane, and trudged on down the hill toward the city.

It was not long before the two men and the boy were ready to go also.

"Keep up your courage, my son," said the sheriff kindly, for the sight of Ralph's face aroused his sympathy. "Keep up your courage; the court has got to pa.s.s on this matter yet. You don't have to go with the old man till the judge says so."

"Tak' heart," added Bachelor Billy, "tak' heart, laddie. It's not all ower wi' us yet. I canna thenk as any law'd put a lamb i' the wolf's teeth."

"I don't know," said the sheriff, as they stood on the step for a moment before leaving the house. "I don't know how you'll make it. I suppose, as far as the law's concerned, the old man's on the right track. As near as I can make out, the way the law-suit turned, he has a legal right to the custody of the child and to his earnings. But, if I was the lad, he'd no sooner get me to Philadelphia than I'd give him the slip. You've done it once, Ralph, you can do it again, can't you?"

"I don't know," answered the boy, weakly; "I don't believe I'd try. If I have to go back with him I wouldn't live very long any way, an' it wouldn't pay to run away again. It don't make much difference; I ain't got anybody left now but Uncle Billy, an', if he goes with me, I guess I can stan' it till it's through with."

It was the first time in his life that Ralph had ever spoken in so despondent a way, and Bachelor Billy was alarmed. "Bear up, lad," he said, "bear up. We'll mak' the best o' it; an' they canna do much harm till ye wi' Uncle Billy a-stannin' by."

Mrs. Maloney had come to her door and stood there, looking at the trio in sorrowful surprise.

"Good-by, Mrs. Maloney!" said Ralph going up to her. "It ain't likely I'll ever come back here any more, an' you've been very good to me, Mrs. Maloney, very good indeed, an'--an'--good-by!"

"An' where do ye be goin' Ralphy?"

"Back to Gran'pa Simon's, I s'pose. He's come for me and he's got a right to take me."