But at last the night passed, and Ted watched with a grateful heart the gradual dawning of the day.

At last it was light enough to see, and he looked around the room.

It was old-fashioned and high.  Through the window he could see a bit of the high brick fence, and a few trees and long, tangled, dead grass.  That was the extent of his view from the window.

He examined the door, which was the only other means of exit from the room.

It was very heavy, and made of oak.  The lock on it was massive and old-fashioned, and set into the oak frame so that an examination of it dispelled all hope of getting it off.

If he was to escape there was only one way, to cut a hole in the door.  He felt for his knife.  It was gone, and Ted wandered disconsolately to the couch and sat down to ponder.  But the more he racked his brains the further he got from a plan of escape.

The day dragged slowly on, but he would not sleep for fear that he might miss some one passing to whom he could call and bring assistance.

Late in the afternoon he stepped to the window and looked at an apple tree in the grounds beyond.  It was full of red apples, and he was very hungry, but they were not for him.

He wondered that he had not heard any one pass along the road on the other side of the brick wall.

Suddenly he noticed that the leaves in an apple tree were being violently agitated, although there was not a breath of wind stirring.

Some one was in the tree, and his first impulse was to yell for help, then he reflected that if it was a boy pilfering apples the cry would scare him, and his only chance for rescue would be ruined by the boy running away.

He would wait for the boy to come to the ground, and would then speak to him.

But as he was watching the tree intently the movement of the leaves ceased, and soon he perceived a peering face and two dark, roguish eyes.  They reminded him of a bird, so bright and inquiring were they.

Ted smiled at the eyes, and thought he saw an answering twinkle in them.

They disappeared after a few moments.  The leaves shook again, and a boy of about ten years, incredibly ragged, with a dirty face, hands, and bare feet and legs, dropped to the ground.  His head was covered with a tangled mop of brown hair in lieu of a hat.

The boy stared at the window, all the while munching an apple, while from the bulges in his scant trousers it was evident that he had others for future consumption.

“Hello, boy!” said Ted, with a friendly way.

“Hello!  Who are you?” said the boy, coming a few steps nearer, to get a better view.

“Do you mean what’s my name?”

“Uh-huh!”

“My name is Ted Strong.  What’s yours?”

“Napoleon Bonaparte.”

Ted laughed at the solemnity of the boy when he gave this answer.

“Well,” said the boy, “it’s just as much Napoleon as yours is Ted Strong.”