dy
had told him about his uncle, and the possibility of going next year to
find him and independence at the same time, the new hope had given him
a bolder bearing.

There were times when he quite forgot to be afraid of blows and short
rations, and when sharp words passed over him almost unheard. He was
so sure the way would be made plain for him, and that his bondage would
soon be at an end.

"Impudent, is he?" said Fowley, with an ugly scowl on his face, as he
turned to the corner where the cruel strap was hung, to be the terror
of all the children.

"I'll teach you manners, you young thief that we've kep' out of the
workhouse and supported for nothing all these years."

"Not for nothing!" said Dick, with a sudden flash of passionate
indignation. "You had all father's money and kept it, and I've worked
just like a slave besides. It's not I that am a thief."

For a moment Fowley looked confounded, while his wife turned pale and
shivered. Then, with a brutal laugh, he clutched the strap and reached
forward.

But the table was between them, and Dick had never felt more like a
Lionheart than at that moment.

"You shall never beat me again, or call me names, never!" he cried, as
he opened the door and dashed out into the November night.

There was a dense fog outside that seemed to swallow him instantly, and
by the time Fowley got to the door the boy had vanished.

"He's escaped me this time, but he shall have a double dose when I set
eyes on him again," said the man grimly, as he hung up the strap; "I'll
let him know about father's money!"

"But who could have told him?" asked his wife, in a frightened tone.
"What if he goes with his tale to the police, or to that meddling
doctor, that took such notice of him. He's never been the same boy
since then."

"Police! not he, but if he should, 'mum's' the word, mind. We never
had naught but just enough to pay for the buryin'. He'll be back
again, meek enough, come bedtime, and then you can find out."

And flinging the tools back into the box, the man, who had already
drunk too much on his way home, lurched off to the "Blue Dragon," where
all his evenings now were spent. But his wife sat over the fire and
looked at the grate Dick had laboriously black-leaded that morning, and
her thoughts were busy with the past. And her long sleeping conscience
was awake, and she heard again the feeble voice of a dying man, "Send
this letter to brother Richard at once. W