opened the door the boy stood before him dressed in a
little ragged shirt and old pair of trousers he had worn for hunting
and with bared feet. The hopeless expression of the lost was in his
face.

"I can't keep my promise to you, Mr. Polk," he said brokenly. "I can't
ever climb that mountain fer yer, but it is better fer me ter die on
the way than fer you to be killed." Correct speech had no part in such
despair.

Mr. Polk drew the boy to him while Miss Grace stood without, her lips
tremulous and eyes full of tears. After a silent moment Mr. Polk led
the boy outside and put him in her arms.

"Do you think we are going to give you up?" Mr. Polk said, striding up
and down the hall. "Not by a long shot," he went on with energy, and a
conviction for which he could not at the moment see any tangible
foundation. "This is all going to be fixed up,--just leave everything
to Miss Grace and me."

The boy shook his head. "Ye don't know pappy," he said sadly.

"I may not," returned Mr. Polk cheerfully, "but I know Grace
Trowbridge, and I am going to trust her to keep you here. Do just as
she says, son, and everything will come right."

He left them to talk with the president of the school. They discussed
what should be done with Jim Langly. Mr. Polk greatly regretted the
man's arrest, but was compelled to admit it could not have been
avoided. He begged, however, that prosecution of the case be delayed
until every effort could be made to make Langly see that only good was
intended for his son.

"Of course I must relinquish all claim to the boy," he said sadly,
"but we must by some means win the father's consent that Steve remain
here,--that is the important thing."

So it was decided that Mr. Polk should leave, as his presence could
only infuriate the man, and the president gladly promised to do
everything in his power to win the father.

For a week Jim Langly remained in the lock-up of the town. He had
wrenched his back severely in the struggle with his captors; then,
like a caged lion indeed, he had beaten the walls of his prison all
night without food or drink, and being a man of indolent habits, he
collapsed utterly next morning. The gaunt, haggard face with deep
hollows beneath the eyes, the giant figure lying helpless upon a rude
couch of the lock-up touched deeply the heart of Grace Trowbridge when
she went in to see him. In his blind fury he had not noticed her
especially the day before; and when, without saying