“I think you have.  I wonder whether he recognized us!”

“I don’t believe it.  He had hardly got his head out of the window before I let drive.”

“Then he won’t imagine I have escaped.”

“What are your plans, Phil?  Suppose they try to take you back to the poorhouse?”

“They won’t get the chance.  Before five o’clock to-morrow morning I shall leave Norton.”

“Leave town?” exclaimed Frank, in surprise.  “And so soon?”

“Yes.  There is nothing for me to do here.”

“Father would like to have you stay and assist him on the farm.  He said so to me.  He wouldn’t be able to pay much, but I think we would have a good time together.”

Philip pressed his friend’s hand warmly.

“I know we should, Frank,” he said, “but if I remained here, it would only remind me of my poor father.  I would rather go out into the world and try my fortune.”

“Isn’t it risky, Phil?” objected Frank doubtfully.

“I suppose it is; but I am willing to work, and I don’t expect much.”

“Suppose you fall sick?”

“Then, if I can, I will come back to you and your good father and mother, and stay till I am well.”

“Promise me that, Phil?”

“I promise.”

“I wish I could go with you, Phil,” said Frank, with a boyish impulse.

“No, it wouldn’t be wise for you.  You have a good home, and you will be better off there than among strangers.”

“It might be your home, too, Phil.”

“Thank you; but I shall be better away from Norton for a time.”

A minute later, Frank said suddenly: 

“There’s Squire Pope coming.  He will see you.”

“I don’t care.  He won’t take me back.”

“Get behind the stone wall, and I will wait and interview him.”

Philip immediately followed the advice of his friend.  He was curious to hear what the squire would say.

Squire Pope’s eyesight was not good, and it was only when he came near that he recognized Frank Dunbar.  He stopped short, for there was a subject on which he wished to speak.

“Frank Dunbar!” he said.

“Do you wish to speak to me, sir?” inquired Frank coldly.

“Yes.  Where have you been?”

“Out walking,” answered Frank shortly.

“Have you been to the poorhouse?”

“I have.”

“Did you see Philip?”

“I saw him looking out of a third-story window.”

Squire Pope chuckled, if, indeed, such a dignified man can be said to chuckle.

“What did he say?” he condescended to inquire.

“That he wouldn’t stay.”

“He will have to,” responded Squire Pope complacently.  “Mr. Tucker will see to that.”

“Probably Mr. Tucker will wake up some fine morning and find Phil’s room empty,” said Frank quietly.

“I’ll take the risk of it,” returned the squire serenely.  “But there’s a matter I want to speak to you about.  You’ve got Philip’s fiddle in your possession.”