before."

"Well, I guess he knows where he is, or where he can be found
to-morrow."

Rodney protested that he knew nothing about him, that his own
hat, collar, and handkerchief had been stolen, and that he had
had nothing to do with the robbery. He even told him where he
had met with Bill, and how he came to be in his company.

"All very fine, my lad," said the watchman; "but you must go
with me. This must be examined into to-morrow."

And he took Rodney by the arm, and led him to the watch-house.

CHAPTER VII.

THE WATCH-HOUSE.

For poor Rodney there was no more sleep that night, even had
they placed him on a bed of roses. But they locked him up in a
little square room, with an iron-barred window, into which a dim
light struggled from a lamp hung outside in the entry, showing a
wooden bench, fastened against the wall. There were four men in
the room.

One, whose clothes looked fine and fashionable, but all covered
with dirt, lay on the floor. A hat, that seemed new, but crushed
out of all shape, was under his head for a pillow. His face was
bruised and bloody. He was entirely stupefied, and Rodney saw at
a glance that he was intoxicated.

On the bench, stretched out at full length, was a short, stout
negro, fast asleep. On another part of the bench lay a white
man, who seemed about fifty years old, with a sneering,
malicious face, and wrapped up in a shaggy black coat. The
remaining occupant of the cell sat in one corner, with his head
down on his knees, and his hat slouched over his face.

Rodney stood for a few moments in the middle of the cell, and,
in sickening dismay, looked round him. Here he was with felons
and rioters, locked up in a dungeon! True, he had committed no
crime against the law; but yet he felt that he deserved it all;
and the hot tears rolled from his eyes as he thought of his
mother and his home.

Hearing his sobs, the man in the corner raised his head, looked
at him for a moment, and said:

"Why, you blubbering boy, what have you been about? Are you the
pal of these cracksmen, or have you been on a lay on your own
hook?"

Rodney did not know what he meant, and he said so.

"I mean," said the man, in the same low, thieves' jargon, "have
you been helping these fellows crack a crib?"

"Doing what?" said Rodney.

"Breaking into a house, you dumb-head."

[Illustration]

The boy shuddered at the thought of being taken for an accomplice
of house-breakers; and told hi