But it happened that one of the keepers was walking under the
window, and the water fell upon his head.

He came to the door, in a great rage, and asked who had thrown
that water out. Rodney at once said that he had done it, but
that he did not know that he had done any harm.

The man took him roughly by the arm, and, telling him he must
come with him, led him through a long corridor to another part
of the prison, and thrust him into a small, dark dungeon.

CHAPTER IX.

THE DUNGEON.

The room was very small,--a mere closet,--lighted only by a narrow
window over the door, which admitted just light enough from the
corridor to enable Rodney to see the walls. There was some
scribbling on the walls, but there was not light enough, even after
his eyes became accustomed to the place, to distinguish a letter.

There was neither chair nor bench, not even a blanket, on which
to lie. The bare walls and floor were unrelieved by a single
article of comfort. Here, for four long days and nights, Rodney
was confined. There was nothing by which he could relieve the
dreadful wearisome time. He heard no voice save that of the
surly jailer, once a day, bringing him a rough jug of water and
half a loaf of black bread. He had no books with which to while
away the long, tedious hours, nor was there light enough to
read, had there been a whole library in the cell.

The first emotions of the boy, when the door was locked upon
him, were those of indignation and anger. "Why," said he to
himself, "am I treated in this way? They are brutes! I have done
nothing to deserve this barbarity. I am no felon or thief, that
I should be used in this way. I have broken no rule that was
made known to me, since I have been in this place. The heartless
wretch of a jailer thrust me into this hole, to gratify his own
spite. He knows that I couldn't have thrown water on him
purposely, for I couldn't see down into the yard. He never told
me what I was to do with the dirty water, and there was no other
place to throw it. He deserves being shut up in this den
himself! O, I wish I had him in my power for a week! I would
give him a lesson that he would remember as long as he lived.

"Was there ever such an unlucky boy as I am? Everything goes
against me. There is no chance for me to do anything, or to
enjoy anything, in this world. I wish I was dead!"

A bitter flood of tears burst from him, which seemed, as it
were, to quench his anger, and gradu