ken up, and then
what will become of my poor father?" continued Joey, with the tears
running down his cheeks.

"Give me my bonnet, Peter. I'll soon find out what he is after," said
Nancy, leaving the window. She threw her bonnet on her head, and ran
downstairs.

Mrs Chopper in vain endeavoured to console our hero, or make him
explain--he did nothing but sit mournfully by her side, thinking what he
had best do, and expecting every minute to hear the tramp of Furness
(for it was he who had recognised Joey) coming up the stairs.

"Mrs Chopper," at last said Joey, "I must leave you, I'm afraid; I was
obliged to leave my former friends on this man's account."

"Leave me, boy! no, no, you must not leave me--how could I get on
without you?"

"If I don't leave you myself, I shall be taken up, that is certain; but
indeed I have not done wrong--don't think that I have."

"I'm sure of it, child; you've only to say so, and I'll believe you; but
why should he care about you?"

"He lived in our village, and knows all about it; he gave evidence at--"

"At what, boy?"

"At the time that I ran away from home; he proved that I had the gun and
bag which were found."

"Well, and suppose you had; what then?"

"Mrs Chopper, there was a reward offered, and he wants to get the
money."

"Oh, I see now--a reward offered; then it must be as Nancy said, there
was blood shed," and Mrs Chopper put her apron up to her eyes.

Joey made no answer. After a few minutes' silence he rose, and went to
his room where he slept, and put his clothes up in a bundle. Having so
done, he sat down on the side of his bed and reflected what was the
course he ought to pursue.

Our hero was now sixteen, and much increased in stature; he was no
longer a child, although, in heart, almost as innocent. His thoughts
wandered--he yearned to see his father and mother, and reflected whether
he might not venture back to the village, and meet them by stealth; he
thought of the McShanes, and imagined that he might in the same way
return to them; then little Emma Phillips rose in his imagination, and
his fear that he should never see her again; Captain O'Donahue was at
last brought to his recollection, and he longed to be once more with him
in Russia; and, lastly, he reviewed the happy and contented life he had
lately led with his good friend Mrs Chopper, and how sorry he should be
to part with her. After a time he threw himself on his bed and hid his
face