e echoed by a hundred voices, as the boy dashed along
Ninth street and down Market street; and, from behind him, and
from doors and windows, and from the opposite side of the
street, and at length from before him, the very welkin rung with
the cries of "Stop thief! stop thief!" A hundred eyes were
strained to catch a glimpse of the culprit; but Rodney dashed
on, the crowd never thinking that _he_ was the hunted fox, but
only one of the hounds in pursuit, eager to be "in at the
death." At the corner of Fifth and Market-streets, a porter was
standing by his wheelbarrow. He saw the chase coming down, and
truly scented the victim; and, as Rodney neared the corner, he
suddenly pushed out his barrow across the pavement. Rodney could
not avoid it; he stumbled, fell across it, and was captured.

"You young scoundrel! is this one of your tricks?" said the
constable, as he came up; "I'll teach you one of mine;" and he
struck him a blow on the side of the head, that knocked the poor
boy senseless on the pavement.

Those who stood by cried, "Shame! shame!" and the officer glared
furiously around him; but, seeing that the numbers were against
him, he raised the boy from the ground. Rodney soon recovered;
and the constable, grasping him firmly by the wrist of his coat,
and, drawing his arm tightly under his own, led him, followed by
a crowd of hooting boys, up Fifth, and through Arch-street,
toward the old jail.

What a walk was that to poor Rodney! The officer, stern and
angry, held him with so firm a grip as to convince him of the
uselessness of a second attempt.

Fatigued, and nearly fainting as he was from the race and the
blow, he was compelled almost to run, to keep up with the long
strides of the constable. A crowd of boys pressed around, to get
a glimpse of his face.

"What has he done?" one would ask of another.

"Broke open a trunk, and stole money," would be the reply.

Rodney pulled Bill Seegor's old hat over his face, and hung
his head, in bitter anguish of soul, as he heard himself
denounced as a thief at every step; and as he heard doors dashed
open, and windows thrown up, similar questions and replies smote
his heart. He knew that he was innocent of such a crime; his
soul scorned it; he felt that he was incapable of theft; but he
felt that he had been too guilty, too disobedient and too
ungrateful, to dare to hold up his head, or utter a word in his
own defence. It seemed as though that long and terrible wa