He was crying.  Dorothy felt herself weakening.

“I’ll tell you where everything is, and I’ll promise you anything in the world if you will only not—­give me up.  I can’t bear to think of—­poor mother.  I could stand it—­but she——­”

“Is she ill?” and Dorothy quickly counted what a disgrace it would be to a good mother to find her son in such a plight.

“Yes, she is away from me all the time—­with the nurses, and I haven’t seen her in a week.  It would kill her to know what I’ve been doing.”

“Who takes care of you?” asked Dorothy.  “Whom do you play with?”

“Oh, father is away, and I have plenty of money to buy guns and things.  Then I go to plays a lot.”

This was the sequel to the story, Dorothy thought.  Would it possibly be safe for her to take the boy’s word, and let him go?  As he said he would be disgraced, and perhaps her kindness to him might be his clearest lesson.

How good-looking he really was!  Even standing there, tied, his clear face, and light hair, could not be undervalued, from the point of fine looks.

Somehow he was just a bit like Roger—­that same round baby face, and that one unmanageable curl that would hang down on his forehead in spite of years, and in spite of barbers.

“I’ll tell you where I put all the things,” he fairly sobbed, “and I’ll give them all back, if you will only give me one more chance.  I remember the Bible always gave folks a second chance.”

Dorothy could not repress a smile.  Yes, that was true—­the Bible taught forgiveness.

“Quick!  They’re coming!” he pleaded.  “Untie me, and I—­I’ll run.”

Dorothy heard the voices.  Quickly she untied the slip knot and almost as speedily as he had been tied, the lad was made free.

“No, don’t run,” ordered Dorothy.  “You can just stay with me—­get some grass for Cricket and——­”

“The togs!  Where can I hide them?”

“Give them here!  Hello, there boys!  Did you find him?” called Dorothy, as that very moment she raised a clump of brush to hide the “togs” under, and at the same time she hailed the boys who just turned into the open field from the search through the woods.

“Nary a find!” called back Nat.  “Guess you were ‘seeing things,’ Doro.  We have come to the conclusion that the bandit lit on your brain.”

“Maybe,” replied Dorothy.  “But see, my Sir Galahad,” indicating the captive, who stood beside her.  “He saved Cricket from a ditch, and I haven’t had a chance to get his other name.”

“Hello, Roy!” greeted Ned.  “Glad to see you.  Where have you been keeping yourself?  We wanted you the other day for the town games, but couldn’t find you.”

“Hello, Roy!” shouted the approaching Joe.

“’Low there, Royal!” came from Roger, who just then threw away his bandit stick.

“I’m glad you are all acquainted,” added Dorothy.  “I must ask Roy to come up to the house this afternoon.”