e bound to go to your folks
somehow. I'll tell him what I think when I meet him in the street. I
ain't a-goin' near that house with that woman there, so if you want to
see me, come here to-morrow evening.'

'I will, Steve. Good-night.' And Jack darted away.

Jack felt very brave and determined when he left his cousin, but his
courage failed a little as he approached the house. The door was open,
and as he drew near he heard his uncle and his wife talking loudly, and
caught his own name.

'I'm not such a fool as to let Jack go back to them,' he heard his
uncle say, 'in spite o' what Jim Taylor wrote sayin' he'd told Steve,
an' the lad was so angry he was comin' over to make things right for
Jack. The boy's worth fifty cents a day to us, an'll make more afore
long; so the sooner we clear out o' here, an' make for a part o' the
country where we ain't known the better. I guess we needn't let Steve
into the secret o' our whereabouts, if we can get off afore he comes.'

Jack's pulses were beating fast as he listened to this speech. He
shook with indignation, and at last, unable to stand it any longer, he
rushed into the kitchen, exclaiming: 'Uncle Mat, I heard what you were
sayin', an' I must go to my folks. I thought as they'd forgot me, an'
now I know they haven't, but you've told 'em a lie.'

A look almost of fear crossed the man's face at first when Jack burst
in, but it was quickly replaced by a hard and cruel smile.

'Listenin', were you?' he said angrily, 'Well, listeners hear no good
o' themsel's, an' it's a mighty bad habit to give way to. Perhaps a
touch o' the whip will make you forget what wasn't meant for you to
hear.'

'Oh! don't beat me, please, Uncle Mat,' cried poor Jack.

But there was no mercy to be had this time, and when his punishment was
over, Jack, quite exhausted, made his way to his miserable bed, which
was in a shed adjoining the house. Through the thin wooden walls he
could hear the two Byrnes talking and planning to leave Longview as
soon as possible, and he felt sick with fright as he heard them arrange
to take him too.

'Oh dear! oh dear!' murmured the boy sadly. 'What will become o' me?
If Steve don't save me I don't know what they'll do to me. But I'm
glad I didn't say I'd seen him.'

In spite of his aching bones, Steve's assurance that his parents had
_not_ forgotten him, as he feared, was a great comfort to the lonely
little lad, and, thinking hopefully of his interv