“Stop, Harry, I want to speak to you,” said the proprietor, sharply.

Harry stopped, as if frozen to the spot in mortal terror.

“Come along,” said Thede Balfour, tugging at his hand, “you’ll be late at school.”

Poor Harry could no more have walked than he could have flown.  Mr. Belcher saw the impression he had made upon him, and became soft and insinuating in his manner.

“I’m glad to see you, my boy,” said Mr. Belcher.  “Come into the house, and see the children.  They all remember you, and they are all homesick.  They’ll be glad to look at anything from Sevenoaks.”

Harry was not reassured:  he was only more intensely frightened.  A giant, endeavoring to entice him into his cave in the woods, would not have terrified him more.  At length he found his tongue sufficiently to say that he was going to school, and could not go in.

It was easy for Mr. Belcher to take his hand, limp and trembling with fear, and under the guise of friendliness to lead him up the steps, and take him to his room.  Thede watched them until they disappeared, and then ran back to his home, and reported what had taken place.  Mrs. Balfour was alone, and could do nothing.  She did not believe that Mr. Belcher would dare to treat the lad foully, with the consciousness that his disappearance within his house had been observed, and wisely determined to do nothing but sit down at her window and watch the house.

Placing Harry in a chair, Mr. Belcher sat down opposite to him, and said: 

“My boy, I’m very glad to see you.  I’ve wanted to know about you more than any boy in the world.  I suppose you’ve been told that I am a very bad man, but I’ll prove to you that I’m not.  There, put that ten-dollar gold piece in your pocket.  That’s what they call an eagle, and I hope you’ll have a great many like it when you grow up.”

The lad hid his hands behind his back, and shook his head.

“You don’t mean to say that you won’t take it!” said the proprietor in a wheedling tone.

The boy kept his hands behind him, and shook his head.

“Well, I suppose you are not to blame for disliking me; and now I want you to tell me all about your getting away from the poor-house, and who helped you out, and where your poor, dear father is, and all about it.  Come, now, you don’t know how much we looked for you, and how we all gave you up for lost.  You don’t know what a comfort it is to see you again, and to know that you didn’t die in the woods.”

The boy simply shook his head.

“Do you know who Mr. Belcher is?  Do you know he is used to having people mind him?  Do you know that you’re here in my house, and that you must mind me?  Do you know what I do to little boys when they disobey me?  Now, I want you to answer my questions, and do it straight.  Lying won’t go down with me.  Who helped you and your father to get out of the poor-house?”